


Prince Belphegor's Guide To Parenting

by AllThingsVaria



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Belphegor does what he wants, Family Fluff, Fem!Harry, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Some angst and feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2020-07-12 22:03:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19954057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllThingsVaria/pseuds/AllThingsVaria
Summary: In hindsight, Dumbledore probably should have rung the doorbell. This is a Fem!Harry story, you've been warned.





	1. Dumbledore's Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> Never apologise for giving the people (yourself) what they (you) want. I really wanted to read a story about Belphegor raising fem!harry but it turns out that story doesn't exist so I guess I'll be writing it now.

Currently, Rose Potter was sleeping soundly on the doorstep of her aunt and uncle’s house. Albus Dumbledore knelt down to tuck a letter in-between the folds of her red blanket, then he stood back up again, and uttered one last goodbye.

As he walked away and joined his colleagues, Albus had no doubt that tomorrow morning Rose would be found by her aunt and uncle. They would take the girl in and raise her, and ten years from now she would attend Hogwarts ready to become the Hero who would one day defeat Tom for good. Her relatives’ aversion to magic would ensure that Rose never set foot in the Magical world until then, which was all according to plan.

Because Albus had a plan, and it all began with Rose Potter.

It began with making sure that the Prophecy came true, and _that_ began with thwarting any and all influences that might try to divert Rose from her destiny’s chosen path. People like Remus Lupin, for instance, who would care less about the world at large and more about her comfort and happiness. Albus had already sent him an owl this morning, explaining that he was moving Rose to a secure location and that it was too dangerous for him to visit her there.

 _For her own safety, of course_.

In time there would likely be others as well... friends of the family, who would want to offer their help. They would have no leads to start looking, and the Ministry would be no help. The Ministry would actually be buried in work for weeks to come, and it was not like this sort of thing was strictly speaking their responsibility. Social services existed in the muggle world, but not in the Magical. They would accept the news that Rose Potter was safe and being looked after, thank him for informing them, and discreetly look the other way. Rose Potter would slip through the cracks, the Durlseys would give her a mundane upbringing, and Albus could continue the work once she was older.

It was a bleak outlook for anyone, let alone a child so young, but it was what had to be done. Albus hoped that one day Rose would understand that, too.

As he turned around to leave, Albus Dumbledore didn’t stop to think that maybe ( _just maybe_ ) leaving Rose on that doorstep all by herself might have been an… _unwise_ decision. In hindsight, he should probably have rung the doorbell.

...

If Albus Dumbledore were to ask, then Prince Belphegor would say this: if he _hadn't_ wanted the baby to be picked up by some passing stranger, then he shouldn't have left it outside where anyone could find it.

That was just common sense, really.

Truth be told, Bel wasn’t the kind of person to care about abandoned babies. He was no bleeding heart. In fact, most people would say he didn’t _have_ a heart. But whether or not he actually had a heart, the fact was this: Bel was a selfish prince. He was turning 25 this year, and his grandfather had very recently sent a messenger his way to inform him that he had a year to find a suitable consort to produce an heir with ( _I’d like to see my royal bloodline continued before I die, Asriel_ ), or the old geezer would take matters into his own hands. Which is to say, an arranged marriage would be coming his way with all the unstoppable force of an elephant stampede.

The messenger had not survived that particular encounter, but Bel _had_ taken a few days off from his work at the Varia to visit the Kingdom and have words with his grandfather. He had also taken up a mission as an excuse not to have to stick around for too long and it was because of this mission that Bel found himself in England in the early morning hours of November 2nd, wandering through a muggle neighbourhood in Surrey. It was exactly ten minutes past the time when Albus Dumbledore had left, and it was then, in his moment of great need, that Bel found the baby.

It was a girl, fast asleep inside a bundle of blankets. Somebody had left her on the doorstep of an otherwise unremarkable-looking house, abandoned. Bel looked around... no sign of whoever had left her. The whole neighbourhood was asleep.

The current plan of action had been to sire an illegitimate child and send his grandfather balloons and one of those shitty congratulatory wish cards, complete with the obnoxious music. But this was better. Much better. Saved him the waiting.

A grin tugging at his lips, Bel picked Rose up and walked away.

…

(For Vernon and Petunia Dursley, the next morning began with a visitor. It was a young man who introduced himself as Prince Asriel of the Red Kingdom.

Never had they ever heard of the Red Kingdom before, and never would they hear of it again after; in fact, they would forget all about its name as soon as the adoption papers had all been signed. As for Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, they were more than happy not to be burdened with the duty of raising their niece. They accepted the large sum of money offered to them, packed up all of their belongings, and bought a large house in a wealthy neighbourhood far, far away from Privet Drive).


	2. Princess Hel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I quickly want to thank everyone who left kudos, comments and bookmarked this story so far! You're the best!

Hel was four years old on the day her father told her about Rose Potter.

What it all boiled down to was this: Hel was Rose Potter. Or at least, Rose Potter was who Hel _had_ been before she became Princess Hel of the Red Kingdom. The name did not sit well with her and Hel did not intend to use it, but ancestry and heritage were both important things, and as was knowing your past so it could not catch you blindsided at a later date, when finding out about such things would surely be inconvenient and might lead to misunderstandings. That was why papa had brought her a few dozen newspapers, two scrolls of parchment detailing the Potter and Black family tress, and a letter addressed to one Mrs. Petunia Dursley.

Hel started by reading the letter. In it, a certain Albus Dumbledore had written to her maternal aunt, asking her to take Hel in and raise her. It was remarkably short, and her father pointed out how it was filled to the brim with guilt-trips and subtle manipulations, and raised more questions than it actually answered.

The long and the short of it was that James and Lily Potter had been murdered by Lord Voldemort three years ago on All Hallows’ Eve. He had then tried to kill Hel only to get killed instead when the curse backfired. Dumbledore’s letter had gone on to theorise that Lily Potter’s love was what had saved Hel, invoking an ancient magic that would protect her as long as Hel could still call Petunia Dursley’s house ‘home’.

Next, she picked up the newspapers. Most of _those_ detailed the rise and fall of Lord Voldemort. Her father didn’t believe that he was more than a peasant deluding himself with visions of grandeur though. ‘Voldemort’ was not even a name. It was an alias derived from the French ‘vol de la mort’, which meant flight from death. The ‘Lord’ bit had probably just been added as embellishment, as there was no evidence to suggest he had any legitimate claim to such a title.

Voldemort had started a movement that meant to eradicate the world of muggleborns, wipe out the muggles, and have wizards and witches rule the world with him as their leader. Hel thought that this was all very stupid of him: you couldn’t just go around eradicating muggleborns and muggles – that was genocide. And didn’t he know that ruling should be left to royalty, who had been _born_ and _bred_ for it? Hel might not have been born into royalty, but her father had Blood Bound her to the royal bloodline, which came down to pretty much the same thing. _It was in their blood._

Voldemort had been nothing more than a terrorist – the sort of thing a proper country with a proper, _functioning_ government would have nipped in the bud. But no, Magical Britain was clearly a dumpster set on fire. The movement had not been taken seriously and had been somewhat of a laughing stock right up until they actually started killing people, and by then it was too late already. The movement had gained traction, some wealthy bloodlines had pledged themselves to the cause, and it had all snowballed from there.

Voldemort’s abrupt rise to power had only come to an end when he had broken into Godric’s Hollow one night to kill Rose Potter and her parents. He had accidentally killed himself instead, leaving Hel with an impossible to heal scar on her forehead and two dead parents.

Putting the newspaper down, Hel touched her scar. She couldn’t feel it but knew that it was there, buried under the illusion and her long bangs. Hel’s bangs were not as long as her father’s; hers cut off right under the eyebrows, leaving her eyes unobstructed. Today, her hair was up into two ponytails with a golden butterfly pin keeping each of them up.

Lussuria had remarked that she looked like an absolute darling.

“How do they _know_ Voldemort is dead?” She wondered. All of the newspapers – and Dumbledore’s letter – had been incredibly vague with the details there.

“They don’t.” Papa shrugged.

Her adoptive parent was sitting across from her, pulling off an elegant slouch that would’ve made anyone else look lazy, but somehow managed to give off the impression of regality when _he_ did it. He lightly tapped his fingers against the wooden table as he went on.

“They’re just hoping. The peasant hasn’t been back yet and his whole movement fell apart soon after his disappearance. A lot of his followers were thrown into prison and the rest bribed their way out or lied through their teeth in front of the jury and earned a pardon. Either way, the government’s ignoring it.”

Hel frowned, if there was a chance that he might still be out there… why didn’t they hunt him down? Hunting down a threat and eliminating it before it could become a problem, it made sense! It was what her father – what anyone in the Varia – would have done!

She thought for a moment, then asked another question.

“Papa, _is_ he still out there?”

“It is a possibility,” He admitted softly, “If he survived then he’s probably hiding somewhere and biding his time… but he’ll show his face when he thinks no one’s looking. The hunted _always_ do.”

…

Sleep did not come easily for Hel that night. She lied in bed for what felt like hours, tossing and turning and counting the luminescent, white stars glued to her ceiling only to suddenly wake up with a gasp – _when had she fallen asleep?_ – and sit up as a hot, _burning_ pain shot through her forehead.

Hel clutched her scar, but as soon as it had begun that excruciating pain was fading away again, leaving her shivering and breathing heavily, forcefully blinking her eyes to keep the tears at bay. It had been _that dream_ again – the screaming and the flash of bright green light, blinding her and making the world explode in pain. Hel had been having that dream for as long as she could remember.

She had never _known_ what it meant, but now she thought that maybe it had been a memory: could it be that she remembered her parents being murdered? Being hit by that curse that had killed Voldemort?

Hel shivered. She didn’t want to be alone right now. Grabbing Baroness Bear and her blanket, she jumped out of her bed, socked feet padding across the carpet as she made her way out to the hallway.

The Varia castle was always dark at night, and on nights when there was no moon it seemed even more so. It was a large castle placed firmly in the middle of nowhere: perfect for stargazing, perhaps, but certainly less perfect for late night excursions. Luckily, her destination was only a door away and as soon as she opened it, a little light spilled out into the hallway.

Hel’s father was sitting in front of the TV with his feet propped up on the coffee table. He was flipping through a light brown folder and several more sheets of paper were scattered all around him.

“Papa?”

At the sound of her voice, he looked up. He didn’t look surprised to see her there – he had probably heard her open the door – but still glanced at the time briefly before turning his gaze back towards her.

“Can’t sleep?” He guessed.

Hel shook her head, “I had a bad dream… I don’t want to be alone.”

Jerking his head, Belphegor made a motion that meant ‘come in’. Hel did so. She abandoned her bear and blanket at the door, quickly made her way across the room (careful not to trip over the various discarded items her father hadn’t gotten around to picking up yet… if he would ever) and climbed into his lap. She closed her arms around his back and hid her face in his shirt.

Her shoulders trembled.

Her father hugged her back, lightly resting his chin against her head. A few moments passed like that and the safety of her parent’s presence helped her calm down a little. Eventually, she stopped shaking.

“I see you’ve brought along your equipment,” She heard Belphegor say dryly, “I didn’t say I’m taking you anywhere.”

“ _Please_?” She mumbled, “I don’t think I can fall asleep again…”

Just closing her eyes brought back that horrible flash of green again. She always had difficulties sleeping after _those_ dreams – they _lingered_. Using his free hand, Hel’s father rubbed a few soothing circles into the small of her back.

“Give me ten minutes.”

Hel nodded. Peeking at the papers from over her father’s arm, she could make out a few photographs among the writing, most of them looking like stills snapped from surveillance cameras. Something clicked then.

“Do you have to work tomorrow?”

Her father confirmed it.

“Fran agreed to look after you,” He went on, “so behave… but, on second thought: not _too_ much. Ushishi, that frog is still on papa’s shit list for that stunt he pulled last week.”

Last week, her papa and Fran had gotten themselves into a rather heated argument over who could have the last piece of Lussuria’s delicious triple layer chocolate cake. Ultimately, her father had won the argument by putting Fran in a headlock until he admitted defeat, but Fran’s revenge had been swift: the moment Belphegor had shoved the first forkful of chocolatey decadence into his mouth, Mist Flames had messed with his sense of taste so all he could taste was salt.

Hel giggled, “I thought that was a _little_ funny.”

“Oh, _really_? Whose side are you on, you little traitor?”

Hel giggled a little more as Belphegor pinched her cheek vindictively, then hid her face in his shirt again. The next several minutes passed in silence as Hel’s father finished his work and read through the last of the reports before gathering up all of the papers together and putting them back into the folder.

Still holding her, Papa stood up.

“Still want to go?” Hel nodded. “Alright, let’s go then.”

He stopped to pick up her discarded blanket and bear, grabbed his car keys on the way out, and together they started to make the familiar trek down to the Varia’s garage.

When driving up to the castle, the twisty road leading up to it gradually gave away to a bumpy gravel road that was unfit for driving. That was why anyone who wanted to reach the castle drove around to the garage and made their way upstairs from there, while any of the (admittedly very rare) visitors the Varia got usually opted to leave their cars a little ways off and closed the rest of the distance on foot.

There were also a couple of labyrinth-like hidden passageways leading back to the castle, but Hel had never been in one and had no idea where to find them; Fran’s favourite pet theory concerning those passageways was that they had been some long-retired assassin’s idea of a practical joke, which later generations of assassins had discovered and added on to. As a result, the tunnels were _filled_ with traps and exploring them was both a safety hazard and favourite pastime of a lot of assassins. Hel wasn’t allowed to start exploring them yet until she was at least eight years old though – her father had been very strict about that.

Descending the last couple of stairs, the lights in the garage came on automatically. Papa lead her to his favourite car – it was a sleek, dark red sports car – and set her down. He unlocked the car and helped Hel into her seat, gave her both Baroness Bear and her blanket and let her fumble with the seatbelt while he made his way around and got into the drivers’ seat.

Hel pulled her blanket up to her chin and hugged her bear. Whenever she had a nightmare and couldn’t get back to sleep, her father would take her out with the car and just drive. It didn’t matter how long it took, Hel always found herself being lulled into a peaceful sleep eventually.

…

At some point past eleven, Belphegor got back. He got Hel out of the car, and balanced her body against his side while she slept on soundly.

Even now, three years after he had taken Hel in, it was still a little mind-boggling to Belphegor that Hel felt _safer_ falling asleep around him. That she actively _sought him out_ when she couldn’t get to sleep. People didn’t usually let their guards down around him, especially not for long enough to actually fall asleep next to him - and yet here he was now, holding this defenceless little creature in his arms, who absolutely trusted him to never hurt her.

Inconceivable.

It had been an eventful three years ever since Belphegor had adopted Hel and brought her back to the Varia. Parenthood wasn’t what he’d expected of it. Although – truth be told – Bel hadn’t known _what_ to expect from parenthood.

After killing Rasiel, Belphegor had always known that he would be expected to have children someday, but that had always seemed like such a distant part of the future. Then all of a sudden it was there: he had a kid. He was responsible for raising this child without somehow fucking her up for life.

It was harder than it sounded.

His own parents’ idea of parenting had been to dump their children on a handful of nannies shortly after they had been born, and leave all of the parenting to them. It didn’t take much to be a better parent than that – but Belphegor was a proud prince, and if he was going to raise a princess, he would be damned if he wasn’t going to do it _well_.

He hadn’t told his grandfather of Hel’s existence until well into the second month of her living with him, by when he’d had ample time to brew the Blood Binding potion and make things official. The balloons and congratulatory wish card had sadly not shocked the king into an early grave, and His Majesty had demanded a meeting.

The meeting had gone about as well as could be expected given the circumstances. Which was to say: Bel's grandfather had been furious.

No skin off Bel’s nose if he didn’t like the solution though. The potion’s effects had been confirmed well before the meeting had taken place, officially making the child a descendant of their bloodline. Since she was his only child (and thus by consequence the eldest) and the blood-binding accounted for her legitimacy, Hel was a viable heiress. No way of changing that short of killing her, and his grandfather had obviously not felt keen on attacking an assassin to attempt it.

There had been little to do but accept it, and in the end Belphegor had left the Kingdom victorious. He had treated Hel and himself to a big scoop of ice cream to celebrate before returning to the Varia.

And so - from running around to playing games, to deciphering a ton of babbling nonsense and making sure Hel didn’t tumble down the stairs while he was looking the other way - there had not been a boring day during Belphegor’s first year of parenthood. The terrible twos had definitely lived up to their name thereafter, and by three years old Hel had been running around the castle with the utmost confidence that she owned the place.

Three years after adopting her Hel had him securely wrapped around her little finger and they both knew it. Belphegor wouldn’t have it any other way, although if anyone was stupid enough to comment on this they would soon find themselves a head shorter.

Prince The Ripper had a reputation to uphold, after all.

Besides, a little pest control would be educational. Keeping the peasants on their toes would remind them all that any untoward attacks would _not_ be tolerated, and there was always a valuable lesson to be learned from that. Maybe he should bring Hel along for the show…?

Pondering this, Belphegor grabbed Hel’s blanket. He covered her with it, using his free hand to carry the teddy bear, and made his way towards the lift. There would be plenty of time for all of that later – for now it was just time to tuck her into bed and get some sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Norse mythology, Hel is a being who presides over a realm of the same name, where she receives a portion of the dead.


	3. Magic And Birthdays

On that frosty December morning, Bel's day began with a surprise.

It began as he was sitting in his office and waiting for one of his men to deliver the paperwork he'd asked for, cleaning his knives to kill some time. This was when Hel suddenly barged in. She looked like she had just barrelled down the hallway and climbed her way up several flights of stairs at full speed. She was panting and pink-cheeked, hands resting on her knees as she took a moment to catch her breath. When she looked up, she was grinning.

"It's snowing!" Hel said, an explanation to a question he hadn't asked yet. And then: "I want to show you something."

She moved on past him to open one of the balcony doors and stepped outside. Curious, Bel put down his knife and turned around to watch her. Hel was standing on a light dusting of white with her hands held out to catch the falling snow, swaying slightly in the wind while an adorable look of utter concentration spread over her face. Her eyebrows furrowed and she bit her lip lightly, a smile lighting up her face a couple of moments later.

She walked back inside and nudged the door closed with the back of her boots, wandering over. She held out her cupped hands expectantly. Bel indulged her, leaning in for a closer look. What was inside surprised him:

With a gentle push-and-pull of her magic, the snowflakes Hel had caught moved to her whim. They were dancing cheerfully between her fingers in pairs of twos and threes, twirling around before switching partners and then going on again. Bel glanced at her and found his daughter grinning cheekily. _Look at what I can do,_ her eyes seemed to say.

No, it was not accidental magic. There was nothing accidental about this: Hel was _showing off._

"Impressive," He said, and found that he meant it, "How? When did you learn how to do this?"

She was only four years old and most kids didn't show any signs of magic until they were at least six or eight. It _was_ impressive. Very much so.

"It's my first time doing _this_ ," Hel admitted, practically preening now that her work had been praised. The snowflakes failed to stay afloat much longer once her concentration faltered, and Hel abandoned them in favour of taking a seat. Bel waited for her to get comfortable so the story could begin. Because there was one coming, he could tell.

Sure enough, once Hel was comfortably seated on his knees, she went on conspiratorially:

"I made Fran glow in the dark last week."

Bel snickered gleefully. That sounded hilarious! It also explained why Bel hadn't been around to witness it all unfold: he had been away on a mission for all of last week. Upon returning, he had whisked Hel away to the airport for a weekend in Prague, but that had apparently already been too late.

For another half hour or so, Hel chattered away excitedly on his lap, telling him all about her experiments with magic. Like a dam that had finally broken, the stories poured out: how she'd been flicking through the pages of a picture book only to suddenly realise she'd stopped using her fingers, page after page after page giving away to the next one by itself. That had been her first time using magic and she hadn't told anyone about it but had still practiced by herself every day since - between her lessons and before bedtime - carrying out various experiments along the way just to see if she could. Fran falling asleep while reading her a bedtime story and then waking up glowing like bioluminescent plankton had been one such experiment, and the rest had followed a similar vein.

So Hel had practiced, and waited, excited for the perfect opportunity to show Belphegor her newest tricks. Bel listened, making the appropriately impressed noises at the right moments and asking her a few questions of his own.

"Are you proud of me?" Hel asked at last, pausing for a moment to catch her breath. This was a question he got asked a lot. She _knew_ the answer. She _expected_ it, even. And yet she still asked. She still needed that reassurance. It was such a small thing, but undeniably important to her.

Bel didn't hesitate.

"I am." He promised.

…

On Friday the twenty-second of December it was Bel's birthday.

He woke up at some ungodly hour of the night to Hel climbing into his bed to wish him a happy birthday, after which they both fell asleep again and Bel didn't wake up until the time was past eleven. By then Hel had had gotten up and changed her clothes, and she must have recruited someone to help with the hair as well because it was currently gathered up into a French braid. The tiny flowers woven through it suggested Lussuria had been the one to help there.

It turned out that Hel had already had breakfast, so she simply accompanied him to the Varia's mess hall.

Bel poured her some orange juice while they sat down at a table by themselves and let her chatter away about this and that while he ate. Unlike him, who didn't get out of bed early for anything short of missions and _maybe_ a catastrophe, Hel was turning out to be quite the early bird. She had a lot to talk about today, from the owl that had arrived for him at a little past eight this morning, to Xanxus defenestrating someone and then sending Squalo down to pick up the pieces and recruit them.

Coming into the castle on the order to kill someone and leaving it as part of the Varia was not an uncommon turn of events, all things considered. Part of the Varia contract involved a clause about giving up any prior contracts, jobs, arrangements and such upon joining the Varia, and bad, _bad_ things happened to peasants who violated the contract.

Mammon was in charge of those and retribution was swift, brutal, and effective. The ex-arcobaleno had a mean streak the Prince quite approved of.

Of course, just because _some_ of them got recruited, didn't mean that they didn't end up killing many, many more.

As for Hel… between Magical Britain, Varia chaos, and his own unpredictable relatives, Bel would have been a fool not to anticipate trouble when he took her in. And the Prince was no fool: he had made sure to prepare his daughter for trouble. To teach her how to escape if somebody tried to grab her, how to dodge an unexpected attack, what openings to look out for and when to give up the struggle altogether and just run.

He planned to start teaching her how to fight as well, soon enough.

Belphegor had been taught all of the same things when he was little and he'd never regretted learning. Of course, it had been a different time. Up until only a few years ago, assassination had been no uncommon way to go for royals of the Red Kingdom and it breathed paranoia into them like nothing else. His father's own paranoia was the reason why Bel and his brother had been taught how to hold a knife before their tutors had even started teaching them how to read and write. The first time somebody had tried to kill them, they hadn't even said their first words yet.

Nowadays things were calmer. Bel had seen to it when he officially became the Heir, weeding out those relatives who'd rather see themselves on the throne and leaving behind only a handful. There had been no attempts on Hel's life so far, but that didn't mean that there never would be. And who even knew what Magical Britain might hurl at them when they found out their precious saviour was the Heiress to his Kingdom?

The news that the Girl Who Lived had gone missing had finally hit the press last year, but Bel's adoption of Hel was completely legal and above-board both on a muggle level and magically, so they had nothing to worry about there. He'd been thorough. It wasn't _his_ fault the peasants had been looking for Hel in the wrong place - that was _their_ problem.

As he finished the last of his pancakes, Hel insisted on a trip down into the kitchens. She took his hand and lead the way, out the mess hall, into the main hall, down a set of stone stairs, through the second door, and – finally – into the kitchens. The moment they entered, a rain of colourful confetti fell down over his head.

"Happy birthday!" Lussuria and Hel chorused together, the former standing in front of him with a large smile on his face and a larger cake in his hands. It was chocolate with matching icing and an extremely (excessively, almost) generous helping of sprinkles sprinkled on top for decoration. There were also candles, though not nearly enough to account for his actual age.

"Ushishi, what's this?" He asked, hearing the amusement seeping into his own voice. Tugging at his sleeve, Hel was urging him to get closer.

"It's a birthday cake, of course!" She said as though it was a silly question, "For your birthday!"

Lussuria put the cake down on the table and started to light the candles for him. It was obvious that this had been Hel's idea: the Varia weren't too big on birthdays, and although Lussuria could usually be counted on to cook something special or bake a cake on the day itself, most of their birthdays passed without much fanfare.

His suspicions were confirmed when Lussuria spoke up.

"Just so you know, Hel looked up the recipe and helped me make it," The Sun shared cheerfully, "And she did _all_ the decorating by herself. Made a real mess in the kitchen. But you should have seen her: she was the cutest little cook!"

Bel snickered. He could imagine this – Hel trotting around the place wearing one of Lussuria's frilly aprons, covered from head to toe in flour. The cleaning staff had probably been less amused.

"Blow out the candles, papa!"

He leaned down to do just that and a little while later they were sitting down around the island, each of them eating a piece of cake. It was rich and chocolatey, not too sweet but sweet enough.

He praised Hel's work and thanked her for her present, and once they were finished eating, the Prince set his plate aside and grinned. He was in an _excellent_ mood today.

And – as it happened – in the mood to for a fight.

…

The Varia's second basement level consisted of a set of fortified rooms which were connected to each other by a number of crisscrossing hallways. These rooms were numbered and divided by purpose, with some of the larger ones having their own spectators' booth built in for observing fights at a safe distance.

It wasn't Hel's first trip down to the Varia's training rooms: Belphegor had caught enough glimpses of her down here – watching various assassins spar against each other – to know that. This particular interest of hers in watching the Varia fight had actually begun a few months ago, and when Bel had first found his four-year-old daughter hiding inside the spectators' booth, he had been less than pleased with the development.

Hel had ditched her babysitter (a considerable feat, considering all of her babysitters were also Varia assassins) to explore the castle, and her explorations had lead her into the basement. Belphegor had not let her get close to the basement before because it was a recipe for disaster; whether it be an accident or an opportunistic assassin with a grudge against him, it was too dangerous for Hel to be alone down there. Which was _exactly_ what she had been. _Alone_ , in the Varia training rooms.

He had marched her back upstairs and made his point very clear, which had left Hel in a decidedly sulky mood for the rest of the day. Nevertheless, they had since come to an agreement that kept them both happy: Hel could wander the castle freely and without a babysitter, but she had to have Mink with her at all times. And thus the presence of Hel, and Mink wrapped around her shoulders like a particularly furry neck scarf, had become commonplace around the castle.

Today she sat with the rest of the spectators, watching him spar against a number of his Storms and then Mammon, who folded the entire room into an illusion, and forced him to draw on his Flames to even out the odds.

The battle moved fast and forced him to think even faster, relying entirely on instinct to dodge and parry attacks while he tried to get ahead of Mammon and secure a lead.

Each hit was a point in their favour with the first to get to 15 being the winner.

Unlike the flashiness of the Ring Battles more than a decade previously, Mammon's work here was much subtler – behind the big, flashy illusions the Mist attacked with, they hid the little alterations. The ones you barely noticed until they piled up. They were meant to wear down the enemy over time, until they lost themselves in the illusion, unable to tell where it began or where it ended. Mammon always got a ton of points at that stage of the spar as it was hard to dodge or make an attack with your senses giving you none of the right information.

Hard, but not impossible.

In the end Mammon won the fight 15 to 14, but as Bel sat down to ride out the dizziness – the ceiling had been on the floor and the floor on the ceiling for a moment there – he felt more alive than ever. His blood sang with the thrill of the fight, his body sore from the abuse he'd put it through, but it was all worth it.

It was turning out to be a very enjoyable birthday, after all.

…

Bel spent the rest of the day doing what he enjoyed most: absolutely nothing at all. He lazed around and took a nap and nobody was allowed to complain about it because it was his birthday.

As the Prince walked into his office after dinner that evening he remembered what Hel had told him about an owl arriving at the castle while he was still asleep. He remembered this because there was an owl sitting behind his desk right now, perched on the back of his office chair. It glanced up at him when he walked in and then away again when it saw who it was.

Unfortunately, Belphegor recognised the bird; Arne was his grandfather's owl and its presence in the castle usually brought no good news. He found his grandfather's letter on the desk waiting for him and lowered himself into one of the armchairs to read it.

Might as well get it over with.

With any luck at all it would just be birthday wishes.

He broke the wax seal bearing the King's coat of arms and pulled out the letter from within. It started off by congratulating him on his 29th birthday and spent another line wasting ink on empty niceties Belphegor skipped over because he didn't care. Unsurprisingly, it went downhill from there.

Having finally realised that Bel wasn't budging on the subject of where Hel should be raised (an argument that had been ongoing for the better part of three years now, with the King insisting she be raised in the Red Kingdom, and Bel refusing to leave the Varia or send Hel away to live with his relatives while he stayed behind), he was now latching onto the subject of education.

Of course, Bel had already hired someone to start teaching Hel how to read and write in German, English, French, and Italian: the tutor he'd found for her was a retired Varia assassin earning some money on the side by tutoring children in the various languages he'd picked up during his Varia career. Bel trusted the man and his skill to be up to his standards, but his grandfather disapproved of him. No surprise there; that old bastard would have disapproved of Hel's tutors no matter who Belphegor picked. There was no winning this fight: the King wanted Hel to be taught by people closer to him, ideally people who would also be sympathetic to him and his goals, and Bel would be six feet under the ground before he let any of those sycophants anywhere close to his daughter.

But the King was adamant on Hel being taught by at least _some_ of the Royal tutors, and he _was_ right about somebody having to teach her about their Kingdom and its history in due time. Never mind magic, which Bel simply _couldn't_ , even if he'd wanted to. There had been no _real_ magic in the ruling bloodline since the time of his grandfather's great-grandfather.

So they were at an impasse.

He didn't approve of any of the people his grandfather was suggesting, so he'd have to write back and suggest a few of his own. Possibly reach out to a couple of them himself.

He could already tell that this was going to take a while and be a headache.

His aunt Cassiel might be willing to help him out. She could always be counted on to go above and beyond in her efforts to spite her King and father. Theirs was a relationship that had crashed and burnt long before Belphegor was even born, and killing her father's favourite daughter some years ago had warmed her to him considerably. Writing to her couldn't hurt.

Turning the page to read the rest of the letter, Bel folded it and put the parchment back inside the envelope. Writing a reply would have to wait, he needed some time to think about things first.

…

Work had steadily been picking up since mid-December, culminating a busy start of the new year

This wasn't anything out of the ordinary: for as long as Bel had been with the Varia, the first few weeks _preceding_ the winter holidays had brought with them a bit of a dead season, while the ones immediately _after_ the winter holidays saw a surge in new missions, both close by and far away. The result was that the Prince could usually enjoy a work-free birthday, but spent half of January travelling from place to place and killing peasants with little time to rest in between.

By the time Belphegor got home this time, it was technically January the eighth already, and he didn't even change out of his uniform before passing out on his bed. This meant that he woke up to sheets smeared with blood the next morning, which he removed from his room and left outside for the maids to deal with, before he shut himself in his ensuite bathroom for a well-deserved shower.

He emerged another half hour later and threw on a clean uniform before heading downstairs for breakfast.

There was something nagging at him. It had been ever since the previous month, when Hel had shown him her magic trick with the snowflakes.

The truth of the matter was that Bel didn't regret things often: if he were to tally up all the regrets he'd ever had and count them on his fingers, he'd only have to use one hand and he'd _still_ have enough fingers left to hold a pen and write a note with. He didn't regret things often, but Bel had come to regret being halfway across the world when Hel had started to use magic. This was why he made the trip to his Sky's office after breakfast, only making a detour to pick up Storm Division's finished reports from his office before heading to Xanxus's.

Boss was reading through some papers, a glass of wine in his free hand, when the Prince walked in. He looked up from his report to glance at Bel and a silent acknowledgement passed between the two of them before Xanxus looked back down and left Bel to wander over to the more comfortable of the two armchairs facing his Sky's desk. Bel put down Storm Division's reports and then made himself comfortable for the wait.

Had anyone else ignored Bel in favour of completing their reading there would have been blood, but he was willing to make an exception for Xanxus. It hadn't always been that way. In fact, there very nearly _had_ been blood the first time Xanxus had carried on as usual when Bel walked into his office. Xanxus had quickly and effectively disarmed him, thrown him to the floor and pointed a gun at his face.

It had been the first battle in a very long string of battles.

Bel had come to the Varia accustomed to never being denied a thing and the Varia had gone through great pains (headaches, stitches, and the occasional bite mark) to instill in Bel the notion that the Varia had its own rules and a hierarchy even _he_ was not exempt from. To a prince of the Red Kingdom – _a son of the late Crown Prince, once third now first in line to inherit the throne_ – this had been unheard of.

It had taken months, but Bel had eventually accepted that Xanxus could do whatever the fuck he wanted to because he was the Boss. The King of the Varia, in a sense.

 _And since you are a prince_ , Lussuria had reasoned one day, almost at the end of his tether, _answering to a King would make sense, right?_

When Xanxus finally finished reading, he put the report down on the opposite stack of papers, to be taken down to the archives at a later time. Then he turned his attention towards Bel and gestured for him to start talking.

"The Prince brought you his Division's reports from last week," He opened up with, "There's twenty-three in total, but more should come in before the 15th, with the bulk of it to be delivered after things calm down." Belphegor sighed, "January is so tiresome – these missions just keep coming in."

Apparently, people spending the holidays with their relatives did wonders for reminding them exactly _why_ it was that they hated each other. It was good for business, but at what cost?

Xanxus picked up Bel's paperwork and put it with the rest, then glanced up at Bel again when he remained exactly where he was instead of excusing himself to spend the rest of his day off doing whatever. On any other occasion, Bel would have dropped off the paperwork and been off again without the briefing, so this was rather unusual for him.

His boss must have thought so too: last time this had happened, Bel had announced he had adopted a baby and wanted permission to set her up in the empty Cloud Suite. Fun times.

"What do you want?" Xanxus asked at last, taking a swig from his drink and straightening up, red eyes piercing.

"Shishi~ don't look so suspicious, Boss. The Prince didn't do anything. He just has a favour he wants to ask from you."

"And you're asking as…?"

"Your Bonded."

A personal favour, was what that translated as. Bel didn't ask for favours often – he didn't need to – but since he was not in charge of delegating missions, he'd have to ask for this one.

Xanxus grunted, "Go ahead."

"The Prince would like to stay closer to home from now on. He'll still go on all the missions he's already booked for, of course – but he'd rather not leave Europe for a while. At least until Hel starts school, which is still a couple of years away."

For all he knew, they might even be retired by then.

A Varia career typically lasted for something between 20 and 30 years, depending on how old an assassin had been upon joining. Xanxus had been with the Varia for 13 years, but the rest of them were getting somewhat closer to 22. Lussuria would probably start considering retirement before the rest of them, since he was older and had been with the Varia for longer, and Bel put high chances on Boss retiring whenever Sawada Tsunayoshi became the Decimo. Nono was in his 80s and though his health still held, it was unlikely to get him through another decade. Even if he did make it, he really _should_ consider standing down in order to let his Heir take over.

There was such a thing as getting _too_ old for the job.

But the future was unpredictable, and it was the present that mattered.

"This about Hel?" Xanxus guessed.

"It is." Bel agreed. "The Prince wants to be around more, and he can't do that if he's on the other side of the world."

For a long moment, his Sky considered him.

"Alright," He finally exhaled, "I'll keep it in mind. Now get out."

Bel did, and then wondered what he should do now.

He had another mission to get ready for the day after tomorrow, with an early flight to catch in the morning because Tokyo was 12 hours away – another tiring day to look forward to. But for now he had the day off.

Perhaps he could laze around a little, and when Hel got back from her lessons in the afternoon, they could grab a bite and go to the fair? He'd heard there was one in town this week, and Hel had been dropping some pretty big hints about wanting to be taken there before it was over.

There. That sounded promising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bel's approach to parenting is unconventional but he's not a bad parent. Surprising, I know.


	4. Knives and Friends

Towards the end of January, the Prince bought Hel her first knife.

That same day he had her sit down with him and passed her a parcel wrapped in thin, brown paper. It contained a dagger, and unsheathing it revealed its handsome blade.

Sharp and lethal, like a blade always ought to be.

Hel's first knife was rather longer and heavier than the curved knives Belphegor favoured: meant to cut and slash with rather than to throw. He explained to his daughter that she would be allowed – and in fact _expected_ – to keep this knife on her person from now on.

She was a princess of the Red Kingdom, after all. And no Red Princess was a proper princess without a hidden blade or two!

…

Hel was _delighted_.

Of course she was: she had wanted to learn how to fight ever since the first time she'd watched her father do it!

The moment she received her first knife she was ready to dive into the action… but there was a lot more to fighting than simply swinging her knife around and stabbing things with it, as Hel soon discovered.

Case in point: the first thing Belphegor taught his daughter about fighting didn't even involve any fighting. Instead, he taught her the importance of treating her blades with respect. Her knives wouldn't think twice to cut her if she was careless with them, or to infect her wounds if she failed to take proper care of their blades – they weren't toys to play with. They were weapons. That was why cleaning and maintaining her blades was Hel's _responsibility_ , and why it was so important that she do it well.

Papa had made it abundantly clear that he could and _would_ take her knife privileges away if he caught her being careless with her new knife, a threat Hel knew he would follow through with because her father was _not_ a man of empty threats.

Even though Hel had never thought of her father as strict before (there were few rules within the Varia and fewer still that Belphegor imposed on Hel), he was certainly a strict teacher. When it came to fighting, he demanded perfection.

Hel understood why it was important to learn the basics properly, so that she would have a good foundation to build more advanced skills on later, but she was still only a little girl and sometimes she tired of the repetition, or grew impatient.

Her father always smiled at her when this happened, like this amused him.

 _You're still thinking too much about your movements before you make them,_ he would explain when she complained, eager to move on, to learn more, to try the more challenging tricks she'd seen other people pull off. _It needs to become an afterthought – a habit. That's when you get to move on, princess._

 _Now come on, let's start over_.

And Hel would pout, but still oblige.

…

_(Over the following years, there were many things Hel's father taught her about fighting:_

_To never pick a fight she wasn't sure she could win._

_To fight dirty, and to seize every opportunity with both hands._

_To enjoy the thrill of the fight,_

_without letting herself get carried away)._

…

Although it took up much of her free time, Hel's education didn't only focus on fighting; there was a lot more that came with being a princess of the Red Kingdom. Come her fifth birthday, Papa started to slowly fill up her schedules with music lessons, ballet lessons, and even more language lessons to add to her ever-growing repertoire.

It was thanks to these lessons, and during an outing with her violin class to a classical concert, that Hel met and made her first friend. His name was Blaise Zabini, and on that particular day he caught her taking to a snake.

Which was another new and weird discovery: Hel could talk to snakes, apparently. She hadn't even realised she'd been speaking a different language until Blaise approached her and nudged her elbow, whispering:

"There's muggles around."

He was right; the concert hadn't begun yet and there were many people loitering around the entrance hall. It didn't look like anyone else had noticed her slip-up, and Hel moved away from the glass cage before they could.

Papa had explained this to her: muggles didn't know about magic. As most magical governments were also invested in keeping this so, doing magic or talking about it in front of muggles was illegal in many parts of the world, including Italy. Of course, royalty could get away with bending the rules (Papa had told the Varia about magic, for example), but they still shouldn't do it without reason – or worse, _unwittingly_.

"I don't think anyone saw." Hel admitted, then realised that despite having attended the same violin class for some time now, the two of them had never been _formally_ introduced. Obtaining an introduction would therefore be the polite thing to do, as magical high society was much more strict and rigid than its muggle counterpart. "I don't think we've been introduced yet?" She recited carefully, "I am Princess Hel of the Red Kingdom, firstborn daughter of Crown Prince Asriel of the Red Kingdom and heiress to his throne."

She'd learned this by heart and thought her father would be very proud if he'd heard her say it just now: she had delivered it _very_ neatly.

Blaise took cue and bowed, dark curls bouncing as his head came back up. So her hunch had been right – he, too, had been taught noble manners.

"It's an honour, princess. I am Blaise Zabini, son of Lady Aurelia Zabini."

"May I call you Blaise?"

"Of course, Princess."

Hel nodded, satisfied.

"Then you may call me Hel." She decided, smiling brightly.

Before they could get anymore words out, Signora Perini called everyone together for a head count and instructed them to form a line of twos. Hel and Blaise grouped up, and as the counting was going on, she leaned a bit sideways to whisper.

" _I'm going to set the snake free – it's not happy here. Want to help me?_ "

Blaise blinked and took a moment to respond. Hel knew he spoke French because she'd heard him speak it with his father – step-father? – before, when he came to pick Blaise up from his lessons.

" _Maybe…_ " Blaise shrugged, using the same language to speak to her, " _How do you plan to do it?_ "

" _I'm going to sneak out while the concert's on_ ," Hel explained, " _There won't be many people out here then, and I had a look at the lock – it looks pretty simple. I just need someone to distract the receptionist for a few minutes so she won't stop me._ "

" _We could get in trouble_." Blaise said, though he didn't seem to care about it that much. In response, Hel rolled her eyes.

" _Only if we get caught. Do_ you _intend to get caught?_ "

" _Of course not!_ "

" _There. That's your answer, then_."

Hanging back, they shuffled into the concert hall and took their seats at the edge of the row.

Hel let half an hour pass before she set her plan into motion. It was a simple plan, but plans didn't need to be complicated to succeed. Au contraire, a complicated plan was much more likely to go wrong somewhere – where simplicity allowed for improvising.

That was the first thing any new assassin at the Varia was taught.

As she had hoped, the reception area was empty except for the receptionist, who Blaise walked up to and spoke to for a few moments, tone turning whiny and petulant, as if he was ready to cry. Five minutes later, Hel watched them leave the room in search for Blaise's "lost" visitor's pass.

Hel swiftly made her way over to the snake and used a knife trick her father had shown her to unlock the cage, opened the lid, and allowed the snake to slither out of its prison and onto her shoulders.

"Thankssss." It hissed as she released it into the woods outside, before returning to the concert and taking a seat next to the rest of her class. Blaise joined her a little while later, visitor's pass hanging around his neck.

"Where did you go?" A classmate asked him, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion.

"Restroom." Blaise said, as he and Hel shared a grin.

…

"Did you know that I could talk to snakes?"

"What…?"

Bel took a moment to process the question.

Parseltongue was a very rare gift, and definitely not one the Blood Binding might have passed on to Hel. The ability to charm people? Sure. Throwing fire? Understandable, if irregular for someone so far removed from the source – Veela descendants were known to have a certain affinity to fire. But talking to snakes?

That didn't come from _his_ side of the family.

"Yeah, I talked to a snake the other day. And it understood me. We had a whole conversation."

Bel raised an eyebrow, and asked drily, "That the same snake that's gone missing form the concert hall you and your class visited?"

"Didn't get caught," Hel shrugged, grinning a little. "Besides, it was _miserable_ there, it told me so."

"Voi, if you can talk to snakes, why haven't we seen you strike up any conversations with Phantasma?" Was Squalo's input to the conversation, which Hel responded to with:

"I don't know. I mean, he's a frog half his life."

"Yeah. Weird arcobaleno fuckery."

Squalo didn't like to think about things he didn't understand all too much, complaining that it caused him headaches. Not that he'd had much choice in the matter ever since Hel had become a part of Belphegor's life – magic outbursts and tricks had since become commonplace.

Still. Hel speaking Parseltongue was not exactly good news. The only person who was rumoured to have spoken it in recent years was…

Better talk to Mammon.

…

Bel only got around to sharing the news with Mammon later that evening.

His devious little daughter had cajoled the Varia's Storm and Rain Officers into playing a few rounds of card games with her, wanting to practice counting cards because some assassins had apparently been teaching her how to cheat at games. Good to know.

Bel eventually caught one of his Storms walking past, ordered him to take his place in the game, and made his way to the Officer Suites.

When he let himself in, Mammon was sitting on the bed and counting money, and only glanced up at him briefly. This was not unusual at all, and when the Prince had been younger (but not too much younger), Mammon would often scold him about sitting down on their bed with no regard for their only joy in life, and then force him to sit down and neatly sort all of the money he'd knocked over into neat little stacks…

Upon becoming a parent, Bel had made Mammon Hel's godparent. Of course, Rose Potter had already had a set of godparents picked out by her biological parents, but Hel was a princess, and royalty could have more than just the two. Bel had six, for example. Picking out a second set of godparents for his daughter had therefore seemed fitting.

"Hel says she can speak Parseltongue." He announced at last, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe.

That got the Mist to look up. The teenager – because Mammon's form had gradually started to grow after the arcobaleno curse was broken – paused what they were doing, and twitched.

The so-called Lord Voldemort had been known to talk to snakes - and now Hel could do that too. If that had been the only thing Hel had in common with him, it wouldn't have been so vexing, but between those recurring nightmares of hers and the knowledge that a part of Voldemort's soul was latched onto Hel's... this was troubling news.

"We already knew he'd left a part of himself behind, Bel." Mammon finally responded, carefully, after a moment had passed.

This was a path they had trodden down many times before, and Bel's temper flared.

"Yes, and I want it _gone_."

"I'm _working_ on it." Frustration now coloured Mammon's voice as well, "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find even a scrap of information on this? On Horcruxes? Let alone someone willing to talk about them and _share theories_?! It's not like anyone's ever heard of a person being turned into a pseudo-horcrux before, and all of the books-"

"Suggest destroying the vessel, I know. _The Prince has read them, too_."

For obvious reasons, that option was out of the question.

They looked away from each other and Mammon took a deep breath. When they were calm again, they spoke.

"I'm working on it," They repeated, firmly, "I've sent _him_ an owl already, but you know how he is. Negotiations are still ongoing – and we'll want to arrange a meeting before anything definitive takes place - you know it's a delicate matter."

"Yeah," Bel exhaled, and suddenly felt really tired. He wandered over to Mammon and sat down on their bed, mindful not to disturb the money the Mist had been counting. "The Prince didn't mean to imply you weren't doing enough."

"And I shouldn't have yelled at you." Mammon shrugged. They rested their head on Bel's shoulder and it reminded him a little bit of when they were both younger, and Bel would cradle Mammon in his arms like a toy. Things had seemed easier back then, and at the same time, so much harder. "Hey, listen to me, Bel." Mammon nudged him, "We'll find a way. You know I won't let anything happen to Hel – and neither will any of the others. In fact, I'd like to see Voldemort _try_ to come between Xanxus and his goddaughter."

One thing was for certain: that would be a fight for the ages.

"Shishishi~ yes, you're right."

…

It became a habit to spend time with Blaise when Signora Perini decided they should take a break from playing their instruments. Other than being an excellent partner in crime, the Italian boy was also sly and inventive – which resonated very nicely with Hel's own love for mischief. The two of them became fast friends, and it wasn't long until Hel decided she wanted to see more of him.

Hel's father agreed to arrange a play date, and on one Saturday afternoon in May, they all went out for crepes together. The venue was one about half an hour's drive away from the nearest village, but it had a large, sandy playground out back and a wooden pirate ship Hel and Blaise immediately took command over.

They pretended to be adventurers and sailed the seven seas for treasures, recruiting pirates along the way, making traitors walk the plank, and fighting off their adversaries with makeshift weapons. They had so much fun, the crepes were barely an afterthought.

…

Bel watched his daughter charge a group of kids with a fierce battle cry, swinging around a stick in what might have been an imitation of Scontro di Squalo, and promptly failed to hide his amusement. While Hel distracted, Blaise and a handful of other kids were getting ready to ambush the enemy from behind.

A moment or two passed as Aurelia Zabini drank a little more coffee and set her cup down.

"The kids seem to be having fun," She commented, an equally entertained smile playing on her lips.

It was only half a truth, honestly: Hel, Blaise, and their team were definitely having fun, but the enemy team most certainly _wasn't_. After all, Hel was fighting to _win_.

Casually, Bel agreed with Lady Zabini anyway.

Blaise's mother was an interesting woman, and not _just_ because she was a famously gorgeous witch with strong connections to the Mafia, and two dead husbands who had died under mysterious circumstances. Although that helped.

To Belphegor's delight, Aurelia was not at all intimidated by his Varia career or Prince the Ripper's bloody reputation. Instead, she knew how to keep a conversation going in several different languages, was intelligent, and had a sense of humour that matched up nicely with his. They made a point of testing each other while the children played – subtle battles of Flames and wit – and after about three hours of engrossing and lively conversation, when they finally had to go, they both agreed that further play dates would be welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I have two more (mostly finished) chapters in the works, so I think I'll update again next week, and once more the week after. Then it's back to my usual chaotic schedule.


	5. Fran's Guide To Babysitting

Fran was sitting at the kitchen island, eating a spoonful of his favourite yoghurt, when Bel-senpai walked in.

"You're babysitting tomorrow." He announced simply, and it was a statement, not a question.

Fran took the spoon out of his mouth and dug it back into the plastic container while he made a thoughtful sound. He had been planning on just hanging around the castle and not doing much at all tomorrow, so…

"I'm busy tomorrow, senpai."

" _Bullshit_. You're not scheduled for any missions this week – the Prince checked."

"Well," Fran sighed, setting his yoghurt aside, "Have you ever considered I might have a life outside the Varia?"

The Storm's derisive scoff made it clear what he thought of that.

"You're babysitting tomorrow." The Storm repeated, his tone making it clear that he would accept no more arguments from Fran tonight.

Recognising his defeat, Fran sighed.

"Okay, sure." He muttered, "I'll babysit."

…

And so, that was how Fran ended up in this situation:

"Vor!" Hel admonished, pouting and dissatisfied, "That's _Duchess_ Bear, you can't address her as a Mrs!"

"Yeah, Vor." Fran said from where he was standing halfway across the room, juggling eight flaming balls without batting an eyelash, "Keep up."

The look of complete and utter loss on the Vor's face might have made a better man feel sorry for the boy, but Fran thought it was amusing.

Vor was the newest addition to Bel-senpai's division: a gangly fourteen-year-old one of their squads had picked up in Moscow, where he'd picked the wrong pocket and gotten a job offer out of the ordeal instead. Since Hel had promptly decided that she liked him, he'd been invited to join their tea party today. Only it was quickly becoming evident that Vor had no idea how to interact or play with children. Completely out of his depth, the Storm now looked back and forth between the Officers for direction. When it became clear that none was forthcoming, he cleared his throat.

"Well, in that case... what… what _would_ be the right way to address a duchess, princess?"

"You can call her Lady Bear, or Your Grace." Hel said decisively, adding a little bit of sugar to her tea, "It's alright that you didn't know since you missed the beginning of the tea party, but I should give you the run down so you don't embarrass yourself at the state dinner. We're expecting the Queen."

"Wouldn't want to insult Queen Barbie by accident, trash." Boss said from where he was lounging across the floor, eating a chocolate chip cookie without a care in the world.

Vor twitched.

Levi smirked, just as Lussuria hid a smile behind a gloved hand.

Although nowadays none of the Varia would have raised an eyebrow at this sight anymore, walking into a room to find Xanxus spending time with his goddaughter still made the occasional newcomer or visitor wonder if they were actually dreaming, or high. The answer was neither: it turned out that, yes, Xanxus really _was_ attending a pretend tea party and giving Hel advice on leadership and politics, what are _you_ looking at, trash?

And, anyway, it was a hot day; nobody wanted to work in _this_ heat.

"Insulting her would be a diplomatic disaster." Hel agreed seriously, which was so funny coming from a five-year-old that Fran almost broke his emotionless façade.

Vor actually did laugh a little, then sobered up when Hel turned to look at him.

"I didn't realise the stakes were so high." He admitted, "Will you teach me?"

"Alright." Hel agreed, "Let's do some introductions, then. You already know Duchess Bear, so let's move on to Fran. He's the court jester."

…

By the time Squalo joined them in the lounge room it was almost eleven, and Hel had abandoned the tea party in favour of lounging on the couch and being read to. Lussuria had obliged, and so Hel was currently sitting next to the Sun, and being read bits and pieces of various German fairy tales and folklore from a large storybook.

Squalo announced his presence the way he usually did: loudly.

"Voi!" He yelled, "It's hot as _shit_ in here!"

Yes, Fran thought dryly - they _had_ been broiling like a piece of meat on the grill for what felt like an eternity. It hadn't been so bad in the morning, but when the sun was at its highest, even the castle's thick, stone walls hadn't been able to protect them much. They'd ditched the leather uniforms in favour of changing into something lighter ages ago, but the relief had only lasted briefly. It was _still_ too hot, and the temperature likely wouldn't drop to something a little more bearable until evening. Which was hours away.

Xanxus – lounging across a sofa – rolled his eyes, "Great observation, _trash_. We hadn't noticed."

Squalo threw his Sky a withering glare, but Levi spoke up before anything more could be said.

"The air conditioning broke." He reported, "Lussuria called someone to fix it but they can't make it any earlier than tomorrow morning."

"What? Fuck that! What are we supposed to do until then?!"

Fran shrugged, "Just die, I guess."

This time, Fran was the one who found himself at the receiving end of Squalo's glare. Of course, the long-haired commander was almost always glaring at something or someone anyway, so maybe his face had just gotten stuck like that one day and he couldn't get it unstuck. Like his _grand-mère_ had used to warn would happen to him if _he_ made weird faces at people.

Heh.

That was a funny mental image, actually.

"Oh, I have an idea!" Lussuria clapped his hands just then, grinning, "Why not spend the day at the beach?"

At the word 'beach', Hel's head snapped up, so obviously _someone_ was interested already.

…

When Hel and Fran made their way down to the garage roughly half an hour later, equipped with a large beach bag the little princess had filled mostly with toys, it was clear that Lussuria wouldn't be the only one accompanying them to the beach today:

Boss was leaning against his car with Levi on his one side, and Squalo on the other. The former looked like he had packed to go on a fifteen-day camping trip with how much he was carrying, and the long-haired captain was wearing the single ugliest shirt Fran had ever seen over a pair of bright blue swimming trunks. Lussuria was chatting cheerfully, mostly _at_ his companions, rather than _with_ them. The only one missing was Mammon, who was away on that mission with the fake prince.

The moment they came into view, Levi's nostrils flared, face red with anger.

" _Fran_!" He pointed a single, accusing finger at Fran, shaking with barely contained rage, "How dare you make the Boss wait for you! You insolent bastard, I should _kill_ you for your disrespect!"

"Well fucking _finally_!" Squalo rolled his eyes, gesturing with his hands, "We were about to leave without you."

Lussuria laughed a little at the scene taking place in front of him, hiding his chuckle behinds the palm of his hand. Catching Hel's eye, he winked at her. "What a darling you are!" He added, "Is that a new dress, sweetie?"

"It is," Hel agreed proudly, pulling at the two sides of her dress as though to curtsy, but only showing it off instead. She made a little twirl to show all sides of her dress. "Papa brought it back from _Milano_ the other day. Isn't it pretty?"

It was, Fran had to admit, very pretty. As well as ridiculously expensive, knowing Bel-senpai.

"Your father spoils you rotten." Squalo announced, which Hel only smiled at, eyes glinting:

"I know." She said, and it was the utter confidence in her voice that sold it. Lussuria laughed again and even Xanxus looked amused.

Squalo's grin resembled something distinctly shark-like.

"Well aren't you the luckiest little girl in the world!" Lussuria cooed, "You have a whole prince doting on you!"

"Brat's got Bel wrapped around her little finger, voi."

"Ohoho! That she does!"

Senpai would _not_ have appreciated this line of discussion had he heard it, but he wasn't here to contest the statement. Not that there was anything worth contesting anyway, Fran thought – they _all_ knew Bel liked to spoil his kid.

Just as Fran was about to start getting Hel into his car, Lussuria gasped, then slapped a hand against his forehead.

"Wait, wait, wait – I just remembered, I need to get the camera!"

With that, the Muay Thai expert turned around and ran back up the stairs.

" _Don't think we'll wait for you!_ " Squalo yelled after him, then clicked his tongue, "Fucking Luss." He muttered, rolling his eyes at the ceiling, "Well, I'm not waiting around any longer. You ready, Boss?"

Xanxus simply inclined his head, and Fran noticed that he had already gotten into the car while the rest of them were talking. Levi clambered in after him, taking up the entire backseat between himself and the ridiculous backpack. That left Fran waiting for Lussuria, as Squalo's car was already full.

Well. At least it wasn't _Levi_ they were stuck with, he thought to himself, sliding into the driver's seat and turning on the radio. By the time he had found something worth listening to (an astonishing feat, when it came to the Italian radio), Lussuria returned as well.

"So," He asked, starting the car, "Where are we going?"

…

Unfortunately, it looked like everyone and their mother had had the same idea as them.

The four assassins (plus child) stood at the edge of the street, where the sandy part of the beach began, and stared at the sea of people already there. It was _packed_ – Fran could hardly see a space where he and Hel would fit, let alone _all_ of them. He stole a sideways glance at Xanxus, their leader even in situations like these, and asked the question on everyone's mind.

"Should we go somewhere else…?"

"We drove for more than an hour just to get here, trash. I'm not going anywhere. Find us some space to sit."

Marching orders received, the Varia (plus child) stepped down into the beach and started to wade through the crowd in search for a place to put down their towels. Afraid that he might lose her, Fran let Hel sit on his shoulders and carried her around. He was starting to think it was hopeless, when Hel pointed straight ahead and said:

"There's some space over there, Xanxus!"

"Where?"

"There, next to the lifeguards."

Fran craned his neck, but he wasn't tall enough to see the spot Hel was referring to. Xanxus seemed to like it enough, because he marched ahead.

"Oh, this is perfect!" Lussuria chirped as they got to the spot Hel directed them at. Fran found himself agreeing: it was a very good spot, the perfect distance away from the beach bar - close enough to be able to get drinks whenever they wanted to, but not so close as to be deafened by the music - a good distance away from the volleyball net, and on the sandiest part of the beach.

"Finally some luck today!"

But Squalo had spoken too soon, because just as they had stepped out of the crowd and were surveying their surroundings, a woman emerged from the other side of it, locked eyes with Squalo, and put her large beach bag down where the Varia had been planning on sitting.

"Hey, piss off! We were here first!"

The woman looked scandalised.

" _Excuse me_?"

"I'm sorry, dear." Lussuria pushed Squalo aside with a severe look. The woman had two children with her, and a man who must be her husband had just emerged from the crowd holding a third one by the hand. "What my _friend_ meant to say was, we were just about to set up camp here. I don't mean to be rude, but you kind of just stole our spot."

She gave them all a condescending look, from the feathers hanging from Xanxus's neck to Fran's big hat, and sniffed.

" _I_ ," She intoned, "Have children. _You_ go find another spot."

"We have a child too, bitch."

Xanxus's glare was so thunderous it cowed the woman, and for an entire moment she seemed at loss, before turning on her husband and glaring fiercely.

" _Antonio_! These delinquents are harassing me, won't you say something?!"

Antonio, a tired-looking sort of man, looked at the Varia wearily. Then back at his wife. And apparently decided he'd rather face the wrath of assassins, and spare himself the wrath of his wife.

"Now now, there's no need for strong language…" He said, moving a little closer. He raised the palms of his hands in a placating gesture as Fran put Hel down. "But we're both here now – maybe we could... share?"

" _Share?!_ I don't want to share _anything_ with them, Antonio!"

"Oh, believe me," Lussuria said, his previous amicability replaced with ice now, "I believe I speak for the whole group when I say that the feeling's mutual."

"Good, then _leave_!"

" _I don't think so_."

Levi plunked his backpack down in silent protest, evidently in agreement with what Lussuria had just said.

Antonio, for his part, stayed silent. At least until his eyes widened at something – and that was when Fran remembered that Levi had painstakingly drawn the Varia logo on that particular backpack. And many other things that he owned, as well.

Antonio paled instantly, taking half a step back.

Huh. Was he a mafioso then? He didn't _look_ like the kind..

"Giulia – we should leave. Let them be."

But Giulia wasn't listening.

"Who is that child anyway? Is she even yours?"

"What are you _implying_?" Lussuria said, and Fran recognised the danger in his voice. So he interfered.

"We're babysitting." Fran informed the woman tartly, "Not that it's any of your business."

"Babysitting?! Is _that_ what they call it these days? I should call the police on you – and what about _you_!" She yelled at Hel shrilly, "What would your parents say if they saw this?! Your babysitters are harassing a family at the beach!"

Hel levelled her with an even look and said: " _My_ papa would say you should show proper deference to royalty. And that it's a shame they don't behead people anymore in these parts of the world."

Well. Giulia didn't know what to say to _that_.

Antonio seemed to be putting two and two together and going paler by the second -there was only one person in the Varia who might say something as ridiculous as that, after all.

"Giulia – just let them have this." He begged, "It's not worth it."

Her face contorted into an angry sneer, she picked up her youngest, and glared at Fran.

"You, sir, are completely unsuited to watching a child! Shame on you! Shame on all of you!"

"Good riddance." Squalo sneered at her retreating back, "Hag."

Levi stabbed their parasol into the sand, marking their territory once and for all. Hel tugged at Fran's shirt.

"Can we go swimming now? _Please_?"

"You need to put on some cream first." Fran said in his best authority figure voice. Murder by Bel-senpai would be in his immediate future if Hel got a sunburn.

Bel-senpai was one of those people who didn't tan well: an hour out in the summer sun and he turned red like a buoy at sea if he didn't take care to wear sunscreen. As a result, he applied it religiously.

It was hilarious, mostly because his senpai thought it wasn't.

Hel released a most put upon sigh, but relented. Meanwhile, Levi opened up the parasol and unfolded the beach chair he'd brought along for Xanxus. Squalo put down the cooler.

This part of the beach was now theirs.

…

A refreshing – and much-needed – swim later, Squalo got out of the water.

He used the beach showers to try and get the seawater out of his hair – it would be a _nightmare_ to comb through tonight otherwise – and then returned to the part of the beach where the Varia had set up camp. Only Xanxus and Lussuria were actually there right now, Hel and Fran still being in the water, and Levi…

Eh… Squalo didn't know where _he_ 'd gone off to, but he'd turn up.

Squalo sat down on his towel and grabbed a beer from the cooler, struggled with it for a moment, but ultimately opened it and took a swig. He wasn't wearing the prosthetic today because the salt did _horrible_ things to it - it was just all around better not to - but that meant suffering through petty inconveniences like these from time to time. Whatever. Should've thought of that before he went and chopped his own dominant hand off to learn a fighting style. No one ever said teenagers were _good_ at making important life decisions.

"Have you gone into the water at all?" Squalo asked his Sky, who was sitting in the foldout chair like it was his throne, a half-empty beer bottle held loosely in his hand. He took Xanxus's replying grunt to mean "no".

Which, fair enough. Xanxus wasn't fond of crowds, and even with some people starting to leave the beach, it was still busy. He might still get a swim in later, if he felt up to it.

"Where's Levi, anyway?"

Squalo hadn't even been sure if the Luss was awake – he was lying on a sunbed, back down, and the sunglasses made it hard to tell if his eyes were open or not – but he smiled at that question

"Oh, I believe he met some old acquaintances. Did _you_ know he went to a top-class college before he joined the Varia?"

This was news to Squalo. In fact, the Rain realised with a jolt, there wasn't very much he _did_ know about Levi's life outside the Varia. He knew the man had family in Greece, but he didn't speak to them (or about them) very often. He also knew that Levi had experience with children - which might mean younger siblings, maybe? - and a talent for languages. He had also designed that flag in the future that never was - clearly in another overzealous attempt to please Xanxus. He hadn't _always_ been that way, but being without their Sky for eight years after that damn coup had.... well, it had done a number on him. Had done a number on _all_ of them, and some days it still felt like they were picking up the pieces.

"Voi, wasn't he fifteen when he joined us?"

"Well, he must have been a very good student." Lussuria shrugged, "He dropped out after Boss recruited him. But he did it for about a year, is what I gathered – he's thinking he might do something with languages. You know, _after_."

 _After_ … by that Lussuria was referring to after Xanxus retired from the Varia. Which was, of course, also when all of the rest of them would, too. They wouldn't be staying behind without their Sky.

Squalo hadn't given the 'after' much thought yet – he was much too busy in the here and now to entertain thoughts of the relatively distant future. But wait, were the _others_ making plans already?

"Oh no, not really." Lussuria assured him, "But it _is_ something to think about."

Squalo considered it, and maybe Luss was right.

"What about you, Boss? Given any thought to what you want to do?"

Xanxus scoffed, "Don't care. Not sticking around though."

Squalo nade a thoughtful noise. Distance from the Vongola probably _would_ benefit his Sky. Even if he wasn't ready to openly admit that yet.

The subject of the Vongola was a complex one for Xanxus, after all, and one Squalo didn't dare broach often. While his Sky cared about the Vongola deeply, and had done ever since he was young, it had put him through a lot of trauma and suffering. Overall, Squalo thought coolly, the Vongola Family and its current Boss had done nothing to endear Varia to them. They were _lucky_ Xanxus was so loyal to them, and the Varia so loyal to Xanxus– because _he_ was the only one standing between them and a castle full of bitter, vindictive assassins.

Not that Nono seemed to realise that, in any case. Xanxus would be much better off cutting his losses and leaving the Vongola to fend for itself, but Squalo recognised that was unlikely to happen for some time.

Lussuria made a soft, considering sort of sound, drawing him out of his thoughts.

"We'll have to make sure to figure something out." He said in a tone of voice that took no arguments. Confused, Squalo blinked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it sounds like we might not all be together, is all. I mean, Bel's going to have a Kingdom to rule someday – wherever it is – and if Boss wants some distance from the Vongola he won't be able to stay _here_. And who knows what the rest of us will do? We'll have to find a way to make that work."

It was a strange concept – the thought of _not_ being together. Squalo took another swig from his beer and thought about it. It seemed impossible. They had been together for so long – it really brought his attention back to how young they had all been when they Bonded. Just kids, really.

"Fucking _Christ_ – Bel's been with us since he was _eight_."

"Kid's almost thirty now, shark."

And wasn't _that_ the weirdest thought ever? When Squalo had _met_ Bel, the brat had been too small to comfortably fit into even the smallest size Varia uniforms came in, so Lussuria had been forced to place a biannual custom order just for him. When Bel was twelve, Squalo had bullied Levi into giving him the Talk, and when he was twenty, they'd all gone to Japan to celebrate the milestone with sushi from his favourite place, Takesushi.

Bel had half raised himself and half been raised by them – it was a wonder he hadn't come out even _more_ fucked up than he already was.

He let out a low whistle.

"King Belphegor, huh? As if his ego wasn't big enough already."

Xanxus scoffed… or maybe it was a laugh. Hard to tell.

…

"You know," Fran said to Hel, "When I was little, I used to play upstream a lot. One time I got carried away by the current and ended up at sea."

The little girl blinked up at him, curiously.

"What happened?"

"Made my way back eventually," Fran shrugged, "but nobody had noticed I was gone."

"… oh."

"Anyway. _That's_ why it's a good idea to pay attention when you're on one of these." Fran gave the inflatable pool mattress Hel was lying down on a soft pat, as if to prove his point. Belly down and goggles on, she'd been getting a look at the bottom of the sea, following fish and occasionally sending Fran after a seashell that caught her eye.

As it always seemed to happen with Hel, Fran had only looked away for a moment and she had floated off.

"I _am_ paying attention!" The little princess protested, indignantly.

"Oh yeah? Tell me where the rest are, then."

"They're right…" Looking up and back at the beach, at where she must have thought they were, Fran saw Hel falter.

" _There_." He nodded, and pointed towards the parasol Levi had set up, not even close to where Hel had been looking for them. "It goes faster than you think, so pay attention."

The five-year-old nodded, about to start swimming and return a little closer to the rest of the Varia, when her back collided with someone.

Fran looked up.

Had he not prided himself in being able to keep up his emotionless façade, his face would have soured.

…

Levi was walking back to the rest of the Varia, having enjoyed a chat with some old friends, when a blood-curdling scream broke through the crowd.

Reflexes honed from years of working as an assassin, he immediately turned towards the direction the sound had come from, and saw it: a woman standing up to her midriff in the water, frantically slapping her skin in a manner Levi instantly thought he _recognised_. Sure enough, in front of her stood an unmistakable silhouette: it was Fran, wearing one of his silly hats. Next to him, Hel was hanging off of a bright blue inflatable pool mattress and watching the scene unfold like one would a particularly entertaining show on TV.

Levi started to make his way over.

"GET THEM OFF! GET THEM OFF! GET THEM OFF!" The woman was still screaming when he got there, not realising she was caught up in one of Fran's illusions. But, standing a little closer now, Levi recognised Fran's victim: it was the one who had tried to steal their spot almost an hour ago!

… _Giulia_.

"Fran! Hel! What's going on here?"

"Oh, hello Levi-san." Fran turned to look at his superior, his expression one of perfect innocence. "Nothing. We were just leaving."

…

"Ha! I told you, didn't I? I _told_ you Fran was a vindictive little shit!"

Fran drank a little bit more from his water bottle, content to let his rowdy companions continue their discussion without his contribution. Still, he couldn't deny it: he felt a warm glow of pride in his chest.

Coming from Squalo, that was practically high praise.

After leaving Giulia to her fate, they had re-joined the rest of the party for an early dinner, and at some point between then and now, Hel had wandered off with a girl she'd met, who she apparently took ballet classes with. They had amassed a small army of followers and were currently building a sprawling sandcastle – although, Fran noted with no small amount of amusement – Hel was less involved in the actual building and more interested in going around and giving orders. Every now and then she'd kneel down next to some kid to show them something, nod approvingly when they followed her example, and get up to continue her inspection.

Under her command, their castle had been fortified with a moat and equipped with strong walls, several towers, and a garden filled with seashells. She was the undisputed leader of the operation, with her classmate being her second-in-command, and all potential opposition had thus far been dealt with neatly and with great efficiency while still in the starting phases. That particular strategy had Bel written all over it: there was a _reason_ he had managed to stay on top of Storm Division since he was eight, and it wasn't because of his _charming_ personality.

Whichever school Belphegor decided to send Hel to when she turned eleven would be ill-prepared for a child raised by Prince The Ripper. He almost felt sorry for them.

 _Almost_.

…

When the time came to leave, Hel didn't want to.

In true five-year-old fashion, she made her most pitiful face and stomped her feet in the sand. This had little effect on Squalo (a man weathered by years of dealing with petulant royalty), and ten minutes later they were sitting in the car with a very pouty princess in the backseat.

Despite all her protests, Hel was out as a light as soon as they started driving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Vor means thief in Russian. At least, that's what Google Translate told me.
> 
> Next time, we find out what Bel and Mammon are up to! See you then!


	6. Preparations and Rituals

They had been trying to solve the whole there-is-a-piece-of-Dark-Wizard's-soul-living-inside-my-daughter problem for something over a year when Bel suggested they look for help a little closer to home.

…

This help came in the form of Bermuda von Vichtenstein.

 _He'd heard that name before_ , was the first, fleeting thought Bel had had upon hearing the name so many years ago. There had been little time for examining that thought at the specific moment, but the answer had come to him eventually…

Vichtenstein was the name of a place, as well as the name of an old magical line originating in Austria. The members of one of its cadet branches still lived in the Red Kingdom today – and _that_ was where he'd heard the name before. It had taken him a little while to make the connection because the Vichtensteins were only minor nobles, and not particularly influential. They weren't quite important enough to regularly interact with the royal household, but still worth a mention when sketching out the political landscape of the Red Kingdom.

Once back in Italy, the Prince had followed up on that lead, pleasantly surprised to learn that one of his cousins – Lorelei, who was a granddaughter of his grandfather's half-sister – had recently married the heir to the Red Kingdom branch of the Vichtenstein family. Which had been convenient, because it meant that Bel could set _her_ on the trail instead, and spare himself the trouble.

Lorelei had not come back empty-handed, and Belphegor had been pleased enough with her work to do her a personal favour much more recently. Some months ago Lorelei's sister had found herself in a tight spot, and since the Prince was on the lookout for tutors anyway, he had agreed to have her over for an interview. His meeting with Matilda had been most enlightening: it turned out she had attended Durmstrang and graduated from there with exemplary grades, as well as displaying the proper manners and poise befitting her noble roots. She was amusing, too, in that thorny and hilariously direct way Clouds often were, and even had prior experience in tutoring kids, so Bel had decided to give her a chance.

As for his cousin's findings, they had been…. _Interesting._

Based on the timeframe Belphegor had given her to work with – which hadn't been that much, mostly bits and pieces he'd picked up and inferred by examining early Vongola lore – she'd managed to unearth seventeen men called Bermuda von Vichtenstein in the archives and then further narrowed it down to three by eliminating anyone documented to have lived late enough into adulthood to have had several children, died too early to be Vendicare's prison warden, or lived too normal a life to have ever been approached by Checkerface in the first place.

Bermuda's uncursed form hadn't been so old, so whoever they were looking for must have died, been cursed, or have disappeared in their mid- to late teens. Of the three possibilities Lorelei had finally written to him about – a wizard born in 1569, his firstborn son born in 1587, and a squib born almost a century after the other two, in 1664 – the most remarkable had been the middle wizard.

He had been a member of the original Austrian branch of the family, and fit the criteria almost like a glove: he had attended Durmstrang from 1598 to 1605 and had won the Triwizard Tournament in 1602, aged 15. Several old letters Lorelei had managed to find also indicated that after graduating, Bermuda had pursued his interest in the Ancient Dark Arts and met someone who knew very much about them. There were several references to Bermuda going on excursions and disappearing for months at a time, until one day ominous mentions of a curse started to make their way into his family's letters…

Reading between the lines, it had to be the Arcobaleno Curse.

Bel had to admit – out of all the mysteries he'd expected Lorelei to solve for him, the discovery that the Vindice's prison warden had a serious case of baby face had definitely _not_ been it. Still, it was funny.

Curiosity sufficiently sated, Bel had let the matter drop and sink to the back of his mind for a little while… at least until Hel turned out to have a piece of Voldemort's soul stuck to her like a parasite, and it surfaced again.

Bermuda had lived for centuries, and had definitely had some experience in the Dark Arts even before being Cursed… him being knowledgeable on a subject like horcruxes was not out of the question. And while Bel did not want to have anything to do with the person responsible for almost _killing_ Boss and Squalo, this wasn't about him.

It was about Hel.

So Bel had sucked it up and sent a letter, and the reply had been the first good news they had received in a while. That was more than a year ago, and after months of back and forth and negotiation, Mammon had finally managed to get Bermuda's cooperation. Mammon and their team were finally working on developing a ritual which could hopefully separate the horcrux from Hel – as safely and as painlessly as they could possibly manage that.

Meanwhile, Bel was on the hunt for horcruxes – fodder to experiment with, and figure out what worked, and what didn't. Obtaining a horcrux had thus far turned out to be a challenge: frustrating and tricky, but not impossible.

Very few things were truly impossible for royalty, after all, and Belphegor was Varia Quality on top of that.

So he'd pulled a couple of strings and enlisted the help of a few acquaintances, made a few visits himself, and examined the shady kind of shops that often sold less-than-legal merchandise. And he had finally managed to track one down: an ancient Greek drachma coin currently in the extensive coin collection of a retired historian in Northampton…

The man was a muggle, so stealing the horcrux was as simple as snatching up a mission relatively close to where he lived, leaving his squad behind for a few hours, and making the drive to the professor's house. He replaced the coin with a Flame copy and was back at the hotel with enough time to spare for a nap before breakfast.

…

"Papa!"

Hel vaulted over the bed with an excited squeal, flung herself across the room, and dove straight into her father's arms. Having crouched down to meet her, Bel let himself be hugged and hugged her back, letting the embrace last for a few moments before Hel pulled away and took a step back.

She crossed her arms over her chest, and bestowed him with an accusatory look.

"You are _late_. Papa!"

He was maybe a _little_ late.

It was quarter past ten at night and the young princess was already dressed for bed. She was wearing her pyjamas and had already laid out her copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales on her bedside table, refusing to go to sleep until he returned. Fran had told him as much when he came home.

"Papa's flight got delayed. I already told you that, didn't I?" He reminded her. He had even called ahead of time to let her know, and to tell her not to wait up for him. Obviously, _that_ had gone in one ear and out the other. Putting on a more severe expression, Bel now reached out and pinched her cheek, "And why aren't you in bed yet? I don't remember telling you you could stay up past your bedtime, Princess."

Hel pouted even more rebelliously still, and shook his hand away.

"You promised you'd be here to read me a bedtime story before you left last night, and royalty never break their promises." She told him haughtily, sticking her nose up into the air, "So I had no choice but to extend my bedtime a little and wait for you."

Spoken like a true princess.

Bel probably shouldn't be encouraging this, but it was adorable. Despite his tiredness, Bel couldn't resist a smile.

"Is that so?" He asked indulgently, "Alright, the Prince will let it slide this once – but next time you stay up past your bedtime there won't be a bedtime story. Consider yourself warned, Princess."

Hel's expression turned serious and she nodded quickly. Good.

Bel got up from where he was crouched in front of Hel and motioned for her to come along, settled down on her bed, and tucked her in. Hel grabbed Baroness Bear and hugged her to her chest.

He picked up the story book and flipped it open, saying:

"Where had we left off? Was it _Herr Fix und Fertig_?"

Hel agreed, and Bel started to turned the pages, only stopping when he found what he was looking for.

"Here we go. This one is called _Die weiße Schlange_."

…

When Bel woke up on Sunday morning, it was to no less than three owls perched outside his bedroom window, each carrying a letter and waiting for him (sleepily, haughtily, and impatiently – in that order) to relieve them of their duties.

The first two were from the Kingdom so Bel set those aside for later. The last letter – brought by a handsome, white-faced owl – was from Aurelia Zabini, who was at least unlikely to give him a headache first thing in the morning. Bel opened her letter first for that reason, unfolding it and reading through the contents quickly.

Blaise was turning six on the fourteenth of July and wanted to host a party and invite his friends. Hel was already invited, so this wasn't news to Belphegor, but Ms. Zabini (who had been recently widowed again after yet another _tragic_ malchance) was now writing to ask if Hel could spend the night as well, after the party was over.

She wouldn't be the only one: there would be a few other kids spending the night as well, mainly the children of other prominent Mafiosi, and it might be a good opportunity for Hel to meet a few more children her own age.

Bel wasn't all that interested in getting his daughter involved in Mafia politics – there would be plenty of politics to get involved in at the Red Kingdom, and there would be no avoiding _those_ – but he still made a mental note to bring it up with Hel later. If she wanted to get involved though, he wouldn't stop her.

Her exploits might turn out to be entertaining, and she should enjoy their freedom while it still lasted.

Setting the letter aside to reply to later, Bel turned his attention to the rest. One was from his cousin – Aunt Cassiel's son, Ferdinand or Nante – agreeing to tutor Hel in matters pertaining to both their family and kingdom history, and the other was from Aunt Cassiel herself, who wanted permission to send along a birthday gift for Hel's upcoming birthday. She would not tell him what this present was exactly – _it would ruin the surprise, nephew!_ – but did give her written word and promised that it was nothing dangerous, and that it would in fact come in handy once all of Hel's new lessons started. The Prince had therefore decided to allow it, but still included a carefully worded threat in his reply.

Just in case.

…

July began with a report from Mammon: at long last, some significant progress had been booked on the Horcrux Research front.

Studying the horcrux Bel had obtained for them, Mammon and Bermuda had been able to draw up a ritual which should force Voldemort's severed soul piece out of Hel and into something else. Half ward and half transference magic, this would then allow them to destroy the new horcrux. Simple enough.

There was a catch, though.

Hel would have to die.

…

Prince The Ripper wasn't an easy person to anger.

Mammon knew that, because they had known their colleague and friend since he was eight years old. Bel had a good handle on his emotions. Yes, he might get irritated, and Fran certainly knew how to push his buttons better than most… but that wasn't Bel getting angry.

When he was angry – when he was truly _burning with rage_ – Bel went quiet.

It was a chilling sight to observe, and Mammon had only witnessed it once before this day: when all those memories from the future had struck, and Bel had found out his brother was still alive.

Finding out that they would have to kill Hel was exactly like that, only worse. Much, _much_ worse. The sheet of paper he was holding disintegrated all at once, the air around them seeming to drop to freezing as Bel took a moment to compose himself. When he spoke, his voice was calm – but Mammon had never heard anything so ominous.

"What's that supposed to mean, _Mammon_?"

It was critical to tackle this correctly – to say what they needed to, and then leave Bel to work it out by cutting something up later.

Luckily, Mammon was good at that.

…

Hel didn't have to die for good: she just needed to be dead _enough_ for the not-horcrux to lose its hold on her.

Well, that was a cold fucking comfort.

Unfortunately, it was also the safest way to do it. The only other option open to them was trying to rip Voldemort's soul out by force. It had turned out that you _could_ do that with horcruxes stored within inanimate objects, via Bermuda's ritual, but to do it on a person… Inanimate to inanimate transfers always worked, an inanimate to animate worked too, but animate to inanimate _or_ animate had been where Mammon's team had hit a roadblock.

It _could_ be done, but not without making Hel suffer through the consequences. Worst case scenario, it could completely destroy her mind. It was too forceful – if they only had to nudge, instead of rip, that would be much safer for her.

And there were Flame techniques which could achieve the desired effect – a specialised Rain could pull it off. So they didn't need her to _die_ – Mammon amended – she only needed to get close enough to fool the parasite.

…

Bel left the castle and didn't return until late that night, after he had killed enough peasant hitmen to quell the anger – at least for now.

…

On a morning during the first week of July, Hel found out that a piece of Voldemort's soul still lived on inside her. That she had been carrying it around ever since he had killed Lily and James Potter, and then had tried to kill her.

Even just thinking about it made her feel sick.

She didn't _want_ it! It was wrong, and scary, and she wanted it _gone_!

Papa and Mammon were working on fixing it all: there was going to be a ritual at the end of the month, and they were going to get rid of Voldemort's not-horcrux once and for all. _That_ was relieving enough to bring forth a new wave of tears, and before she knew it Hel was clinging to her father and hugging him, sobbing into his shirt.

Hel didn't know how long it lasted, only that Papa held her tight and stroked her hair the entire while, promising her a bloody, bloody revenge on Voldemort – the most torturously slow and agonising one he had to offer.

…

That night Hel had a nightmare, and Papa drove her around for what felt like hours. She finally managed to calm down enough to get back to sleep, but the next night she had another nightmare…

It was that same one she'd been having since forever ago – the one with her mother and the bright green light – but it was suddenly different, and where her mother had always been the one engulfed by that light, now it was _Papa_. Maybe it was because she didn't actually remember her biological parents – and maybe it was because she did know Papa, he was right here and tangible – but seeing _him_ die made the nightmare so much worse.

After the third one, when she woke up screaming and couldn't stop her crying until Papa scooped her up into his arms and hushed her like a little baby, Papa decided it would be easier to just let her sleep in his room instead.

…

As Hel's sixth birthday approached, the Prince's days only got busier.

Hel's new tutors were set to arrive on her birthday, so in between missions and training Hel during the day, and dealing with her nightmares at night, Bel was also busy arranging lodgings for the tutors, and seeing to it that everything was ready for their arrivals.

On top of that, they were still preparing for the ritual, and it was frustrating how _little_ Bel could actually do to help or speed up the process there. All he could do was go around and talk to assassins Mammon suggested they recruit, enlisting their help in preparation of it all…

They had a solid team built up. Lady would be in charge of putting Hel under, while Lussuria and Eir would both be there to ensure she made a swift recovery. Mammon and their people would be setting up the ritual, and Bel… Bel would be completely useless until the ritual was over and he got to Disintegrate the damn parasite.

He hated it. Hated feeling this redundant, and having no control over whether his own daughter _lived_ or _died_.

He'd be happy when this whole ordeal was over and done with, and life could just go back to normal.

…

Despite the nightmares, nothing about Hel's life had really changed that summer.

Her private lessons had all stopped at the beginning of June and wouldn't resume until September, so Hel had been spending her days at the castle – practicing her knifework and languages, and watching movies, and generally just waiting for the next interesting thing to happen…

It was boring, and no one seemed to have any time for her as the date of the ritual slowly but surely drew nearer. Blaise's birthday party on the 14th was supposed to be the big event – the one distraction Hel had been looking forward to the most.

Or at least it had been, until she realised how many kids were there.

Hel had never thought of herself as someone who was _shy_ before, but there were more than _twenty_ children there and she knew the names of maybe _two_ of them. Mrs. Zabini introduced her to a few and it didn't take Hel long to realise she was the odd one out: they all knew each other already, and she knew nobody because she wasn't a _stupid_ student at the _stupid_ Mafia School everyone was talking about.

And… and Blaise was _barely_ paying _any_ attention to her!

It was unfair! Blaise was _her_ friend!

 _Hers_!

…

Aurelia watched from behind the counter – and poured another bit of juice in a plastic champagne glass for young Emanuele – as Princess Hel turned around and stomped off, down the steps of the slightly elevated patio, and into the dark garden.

Sensing trouble, she put the bottle down and screwed the cap back on, then abandoned bartender duty to find Blaise.

" _Darling?"_ She asked him in English _,_ then lowered her voice a little to speak to him more privately, _"Is everything alright?_ "

Blaise turned around to face her, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and anger, and hands balled into fists.

" _All I did was ask her if she wanted to play in the bouncy castle with Enzo and me, and then she pushed me and just ran off! What's her problem!?_ "

His words were angry and he glared out at the garden, but Aurelia knew her son well enough to discern the upset in his voice. Sure enough, after a moment passed, he mumbled:

" _She said she_ hates _me_."

" _Oh, baby, I'm sure that's not true_." Aurelia said quickly, enveloping her baby boy in a big hug. His shoulders sagged and he relaxed a little, leaning into her for a moment before he suddenly remembered he was A Big Boy now and started pushing her away a little.

"' _m not a baby. Get off, you're embarrassing me…_ "

Aurelia tutted, " _Is that any way to speak to your mother now?_ "

" _Muuum, stop_."

" _Your poor mourning widow of a mother-_ "

" _Mum! Please?_ "

Aurelia took pity on him, but couldn't help the affectionate smile that broke out on her lips, " _Alright, just this once. Since it_ is _your birthday_." She let go of him and placed a kiss on his forehead, " _Leave Hel to me, I'll go have a talk with her. Why don't you run along and ask Signor Greco to start setting things up for another game? Your friends all liked pass the parcel._ "

Blaise nodded. Once he was gone, Aurelia made her way outside.

She found Hel sitting by the swan lake in the back of the estate gardens, hurriedly wiping her eyes and desperately trying to look like she hadn't been crying. When she turned her head to look at her, her face was still red and blotchy, and her eyes bloodshot.

"Oh, it's you Mrs. Zabini." A moment passed and she didn't seem sure about what she was supposed to say, so she tacked on an awkward hello to her greeting.

"Is it alright if I join you, Hel?"

The girl shrugged, and Aurelia sat down next to her. The lake was Aurelia's favourite part of the gardens – it was truly a beautiful lake – tranquil, with the moon reflecting off it very clearly tonight. She'd always thought the swans to be a nice touch, too – much more tasteful than, say, peacocks.

Aurelia let a few quiet moments pass, and it was finally Hel who broke the silence.

"I don't hate Blaise!" She refused to look at Aurelia, but her bottom lip trembled and she blinked rapidly, clenching her fists.

"I know you don't, love." Aurelia said, not unkindly. Figuring that she sorely needed one, she pulled Hel into a half hug. The Princess didn't resist, only leaning closer. "You shouldn't say things you don't mean to people you care about. You really hurt Blaise earlier."

Hel rubbed the palm of her hand into her eye, and mumbled: "Does Blaise hate me? What if he doesn't want to be friends anymore?"

"I really doubt that. You're his best friend – he's always talking about you, you know?"

"Really?", Aurelia nodded, "What should I do?"

"Apologize, for a start."

Hel's head snapped up, "But he's _my_ friend, and he was – he kept talking to everybody eIse like _they_ were his friends and – and…" She trailed off.

"Just because Blaise has other friends, doesn't mean he likes you any less… people can have more than just one friend, Princess. In fact, most of them do."

Aurelia had noticed that the little princess didn't have a lot of friends – it wasn't her fault: she was home-schooled, and the Varia HQ probably didn't have all too many children running around it for a little girl to socialise with.

Had Blaise been her first friend?

That would explain _a lot_ , actually.

"Alright…" Hel finally said, quietly, "I'll tell him I'm sorry."

Just then she yawned, looking very tired. It wasn't even eight yet.

It wasn't her place to pry, but Aurelia couldn't help noticing certain things… like how the little princess had looked dead on her feet all evening, and how Prince Belphegor hadn't sounded much better last time she'd spoken to him either. He'd let her know that Hel wouldn't be spending the night after all, and she hadn't realised the two might actually be connected until now.

Had Hel been having trouble sleeping? She mulled the thought over inside her head while she followed Hel back inside…

…

When Bel came to pick Hel up after the party, Aurelia pulled him aside and gave him a paper bag with something purple inside. It was a flask… a potion?

"Dreamless Sleep." Aurelia said meaningfully, "Have her take it with a cup of tea before bedtime – it will work wonders."

…

For the first time in almost two weeks, Hel slept through the entire night.

…

It was funny how when you dreaded something, time seemed to move forward very fast, and then again almost not at all….

Hel was lying awake in bed and it had to be very late. She couldn't sleep – had been trying to in vain for what felt like _hours_ – but her mind was too busy at the moment and she was wide awake. She finally gave up and got out of bed, but Papa wasn't in his room or in his office, and none of the Officers were upstairs either.

So Hel made her way downstairs, and looked for them there.

The door to the kitchen had been left slightly ajar, a thin strip of light stretching out across the floor. From within, Hel could hear the voices of Xanxus and Squalo, talking about something work-related…

The conversation came to a halt when Hel poked her head inside, and both assassins' eyes were suddenly on her. Squalo turned around and faced her properly.

"Voi, what are you doing here, runt? Isn't it past your bedtime?"

Hel shrugged. She caught her godfather's eye, and he jerked his head to the side as though to say 'come in'.

"I couldn't sleep." Hel said a moment later, feeling it was redundant to say more than that. Tomorrow was the day of the ritual – Squalo and Xanxus already knew that. "Did Papa go somewhere?"

Squalo shrugged.

"He's with Mammon, probably."

Hel nodded in understanding. At the island, Xanxus and Squalo were each sitting on a stool. There was an empty stool between the two of them, so Hel climbed on it and joined them. From this vantage point, Hel could also see that they'd been drinking.

"Can I have some?"

"No." Hel pouted, and Xanxus looked amused at that. He turned towards Squalo instead and said imperiously: "Go pour her some apple juice in a whiskey glass, Shark."

Squalo complained but hopped off his stool and obliged anyway. Xanxus took a sip from his own drink, and when he set it down, his gaze settled on Hel.

"So why are you _really_ here?"

"I told you, I couldn't sleep."

"Hm." His red gaze pierced her, and he said nothing for a moment, "Worried about tomorrow?"

Hel nodded.

"No more of that potion left?"

"There is some…" Hel admitted, "I just… didn't want to be alone right now."

"At least you admit it," Squalo muttered, setting a short glass with apple juice and some ice cubes down in front of her, "It was always like pulling teeth with your father."

"Papa?" Hel wondered, bringing the glass to her lips, "What do you mean?"

"You know, when _he_ was kid and had a nightmare or some shit. He was too proud to admit it, but used to keep us all up anyway so he'd have company."

"Papa used to have bad dreams?"

"Everyone has bad dreams, kid."

"Oh…"

That made sense. It wasn't like Hel hadn't _known_ that everyone had bad dreams and nightmares sometimes, it was just hard to imagine anyone in the Varia having them. They were all so strong.

"Even Papa, and Squalo, and you?" Hel wanted to know.

Xanxus shrugged, but it was Squalo who answered.

"Yeah, all of us." He raised his glass and took a drink, "Listen, I'm going to tell you something I wish someone had told me when I was little – you're not weak for having all those nightmares. It's just your subconscious fucking with you. And yeah it sucks ass, but you're not weak for having them. Or for taking that potion if it helps you, or for being afraid of that ritual… thing, tomorrow. Fact is, you're getting through all of that shit – you've survived it all so far and you'll keep doing that – and you're _never_ weak for surviving something."

Squalo gave her a supportive and slightly awkward slap on the back and they sat in silence for a little while. Hel finished her drink. She tipped the glass up until one of the ice cubes fell and another few moments passed while she pushed it around with her tongue and let it melt in her mouth.

Xanxus put his glass down, and changed the subject:

"Has anyone ever told you about the time Squalo almost got hitched while on a mission?"

Hel's head snapped up and she quickly shook her head.

"How did _that_ happen?" She asked, paying rapt attention, while Squalo yelled: "Vooooi! You're giving her the wrong impression!"

But there was a glint in Xanxus's eye, and he wouldn't be stopped.

"Alright. So he was on a mission in some backwater village in the mountains, middle of fucking nowhere, when he came across this woman and her grandson. Kid had fallen into the river and she couldn't get him out – and because he's such a _knight in shining armour_ , Squalo went over and helped the kid. At this point, the rest of the squad had caught up so we've got first-hand accounts of this woman being so happy, she offered him her daughter's hand in marriage!"

Hel giggled. Next to her, Squalo's cheeks had gone a little pink.

"Yeah, well-" He grumbled, "I told her I wasn't interested and then we had to hightail it out of there because the hag could already hear the church bells ringing."

"Should've asked her if she had a son instead, Shark." Xanxus said, and then laughed, downing the last bit of whiskey left in his glass. Squalo glared at him and opened his mouth – maybe to tell Xanxus something very rude – but Hel tugged at her godfather's sleeve and said:

"Tell me more stories! _Pleeease_?"

"Later. Your turn, Shark."

"Voooi, what? This was _your_ damn idea!" Hel turned her hopeful gaze towards the Varia's second-in-command and Squalo rolled his eyes, "Fine. Okay. Did I ever tell you about how our _esteemed leader_ tripped and fell into the canals of Venice one time?"

…

On the morning of the ritual, Bel woke up early.

Earlier than he had ever done before without having to for a mission. He couldn't get back to sleep though, so he decided to check up on Hel, and then accompanied her down to the Varia's communal dining room for breakfast.

Neither of them had much of an appetite.

…

The ritual was going to take place in the Medical Wing.

Mammon and Lussuria were both already there when Papa walked in, Hel holding onto his hand and following closely behind. She could see the former talking to a couple of vaguely familiar-looking assassins, while Lussuria talked to Eir.

Eir was the Head of the Varia's Medical Division, an older woman with greying hair and heavy-looking golden earrings. She had retired as an assassin years ago and was – according to Papa – the most senior Varia member currently on payroll. She was also a mean monster, but Hel assumed you had to be in order to keep the Varia's Infirmary under control.

Off to the side were a few more people, and one of them was walking over. It was a middle-aged woman with light brown hair pulled up into a very poofy updo. She was wearing what looked like the most recent edition of the Varia uniform, if it had been designed by a Victorian tailor.

She greeted Papa first, received a slight nod in response, and then knelt down to talk to Hel on eye level.

"You must be the Princess. Hello."

Hel nodded and looked up at her father inquisitively.

"This is Lady." He responded, "Lady, this is the Prince's daughter. Princess Hel."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness."

"You too."

Lady got up again but she didn't leave yet. Instead, she scrutinised Hel for a moment and then said:

"You look nervous. Do you want some Calming Draught? You'll feel a lot better."

The Draught did help, although it was a weird sort of calm. It suppressed her emotions so they felt far away and muffled, and then blanketed her in a feeling of… something _like_ calmness, but not exactly that. It didn't feel like much of anything, except perhaps numbness.

But the jitters stopped, and Hel only now realised how difficult she'd found it to breathe well just a moment ago.

They went around the room next and Papa introduced her to the last few assassins present: Hex and Echo – who had assisted Mammon in their research and were here to make sure the ritual went off without a hitch – and Eir. Finally there was nothing else left to do. Papa kissed her on the forehead, and hugged her, and promised her that everything would be alright – it would be like taking a nap, and he'd be right there again when she woke up.

Then Lady took over. A sheen of light blue Flames enveloped her hand and she let Hel have a look at it for a little while before letting the Flames seep in. The drowsiness set in almost immediately.

"Once I let go, you need to get into the circle and lie down, okay?" Lady told her, "Or you'll fall and hit your head."

Hel nodded, and Lady let go. Hel stepped over the runes and sat down carefully next to a box that had a squirrel in it. She hadn't noticed it earlier. She was already starting to feel heavy after a moment or two, so Hel lied down like Lady had instructed her to, and soon closed her eyes.

And was unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Almost half a year later, but chapter six is finally here! Just wanted to let you all know that this story is definitely still ongoing. It's going to be a long one though so it's taking me a lot of time to plan and write it!
> 
> On another note, would anyone be interested in a PBGtP-centered blog on tumblr?


	7. Family and Newcomers

The ritual only lasted for a minute, but it was still the longest minute Bel had ever been forced to sit through.

Then Hex said: “You’re up, Officer”, and Bel didn’t waste another moment. No sooner had the squirrel realised that it was being grabbed than it was over, and Bel let the carcass drop, Disintegrating away to nothingness before it could even hit the floor…

_Good riddance_ , he thought vindictively, before turning his attention to the centre of the room. Lussuria and Eir were already looking after Hel, so she was in good hands… which left _him_ to deal with the complications.

_Because of course there were complications,_ Mammon had complained with audible exasperation, _when_ weren’t _there complications?_

And sure enough, it would seem like Bermuda’s ritual had dragged a little something _else_ to the surface as well, other than that piece of Voldemort’s soul… the apparition had made itself known just as they expelled the peasant’s soul from Hel’s body and hadn’t gone anywhere since – even now, it just stood staring at them with a pair of unnervingly familiar eyes.

Hel’s eyes.

Or rather, Bel amended… _Lily Potter’s_ eyes.

They were the same shade of green, and the thin, pale face, framed by a waterfall of fiery red, could belong to no one else. It was Lily Potter as she had looked at 21, all over the magical newspapers for _months_ after her death.

But the thing in front of them was _not_ Lily Potter. Bel was very sure of that. It wasn’t a ghost either, for all that it resembled one. The apparition hadn’t said anything so far, but it _had_ lashed out _violently_ at the idiot who’d thought that probing a mass of Flames and Magic with his own Flames had been a _good_ idea. Said idiot hadn’t survived his blunder, but it had been a very educational few seconds for the rest of them.

Nobody had tried to approach the apparition after that.

“It looks like… a ward?” One of the assembled Varia muttered thoughtfully, to nobody in particular, “A very complicated and scary one I wouldn’t want to touch with a ten foot pole, but still some kind of ward nonetheless.”

Yes, Bel could see the runes, glowing faintly all over and around the apparition. A lot of the runework he’d never even seen before, and Mammon’s focused interest suggested he wasn’t the only one.

Considering Mammon was their resident rune expert… that wasn’t exactly comforting.

“Whatever it is, its function seems to be defensive.” The Mist said judiciously, after a moment or two of silent examination had passed, “I think it’s intention-based, so it reacts to threats.”

Bel turned to look at Mammon, wanting to know their opinion: would it be willing to chat?

“…Maybe?” His friend eyed him thoughtfully, “But it might equally decide it likes you better charred. You’d better not be thinking what I _think_ you’re thinking, Bel-”

Years of experience meant that Mammon was probably right on the money there, and Bel didn’t bother lying. A royal could and should _listen_ to advice, but in the end it was the royal who decided what to do – and _he_ wanted a closer look. So he reined in his Flames and sealed them carefully under his skin before taking an experimental step closer to the apparition.

Not-Lily turned to look at him, and Bel stopped moving. He suspected that human particulars such as rank and station just wouldn’t matter to this thing, and the ward had already proved itself capable of lashing out if approached carelessly, so he waited for the apparition to acknowledge him before taking another step, and then one more…

Until he was finally standing in front of it.

Somewhere behind him, Mammon breathed out audibly. The feelings he got off their Flames probably meant that the Prince would be charged a small fortune for making the illusionist go through this.

Up close, Bel could finally confirm what he’d already suspected… this thing wasn’t a part of Hel, not any more than Voldemort’s pseudo-horcrux had been. She hadn’t been born with it, and it wasn’t hers: that was why the ritual had dragged it up.

Hel was a Cloud after all, and the thing in front of him definitely felt Sunny. Lily Potter had _made_ this. But Bel had never sensed these Flames before, not once in _five years_ – so why was that?

Bel inclined his head lightly, and Not-Lily smiled at him. There was nothing _nice_ about that smile, twisting Lily Potter’s face into an expression of something wild and gleeful that would probably have looked out of place on the real thing.

“So _you’re_ the Veela-child I’ve been sensing around the Little Flame all this time, are you?”

"So I am." Bel agreed, “And you are?”

“Lily Potter’s most desperate attempt to save her daughter’s life, of course. Can you guess what that means…? It’s the most desperate of magics.”

“The most desperate?” Bel mused, and something long-forgotten flashed through his mind: a schoolroom, and a lesson that had taken place years and years ago. “You don’t mean sacrificial magic…?”

But no, that _would_ make a lot of sense, actually.

In many places, sacrificial magic was an old and nowadays illegal branch of magic that wasn’t talked about in polite company. Killing peasants to power your rituals was frowned upon, and liable to get you thrown into jail – or executed. And that was without taking into account the many, many things that could go wrong or backfire somehow if you weren’t precise enough in your methods.

The most _desperate_ magic, though – that would have to be the self-sacrificial type.

“One life for another.” Not-Lily agreed simply, “Lily Potter sacrificed herself for her daughter knowingly and willingly, which was the last keystone that needed to be put into place for her runework to take effect. She sacrificed herself to create me, and to give me purpose… and ever since that night and until the day her daughter dies and I die with her, my purpose has and will continue to be to guard and protect the Little Flame.”

“Then _you’re_ the one who defeated Voldemort.”

Not-Lily didn’t like that observation, and Bel took a quick step back.

“He was able to leave a part of him behind that I couldn’t get rid of by myself… so obviously not well _enough_. But that was my magic, yes… unfortunately, I can only react to external threats – internal ones are out of my reach… You can imagine what an _insult_ it was, therefore, to _know_ what was there, living on borrowed time, but being unable to do anything about it.”

“It’s gone now.”

“Yes… and for that you have my gratitude.”

Not-Lily seemed content to leave it at that, and the Prince got the feeling they were running out of time…

But he had one last thing he wanted to ask it – he was an assassin, after all.

“Any chance you could be turned into a weapon, rather than just functioning as a shield?”

The apparition actually laughed now, and when its eyes met his, there shone something _vicious_.

“You can _try_ , Princeling.” Not-Lily agreed, “Just be careful not to get burned. The Little Flame looks up to you a great deal, and would be grieved by your death.”

With that, Not-Lily closed her eyes, and she was gone.

Suddenly, it felt as though everything was catching up to him. He felt exhausted, and heavy, and his legs gave out without his permission – unable to support his weight any longer as he first fell to his knees and then allowed himself to sit down, and breathe.

That hadn’t been fun. _Interesting_ , yes - but still nerve-wracking.

Mammon and Lussuria were both there the next moment, Flames roaring with _anxiety-worry-relief_ , and for once Bel didn’t protest to the treatment.

“Don’t _ever_ do that again, please?" Lussuria said, "You scared us half to death.”

Bel didn’t say anything, but took a look around. He must have missed something while he was talking to Not-Lily, because while Hex was still hanging around, Eir and Lady were both gone. So was Hel.

“What happened? Hel-?”

“Is just _fine_ , Bel.” Lussuria assured him, “Eir burned away all remnants of Rain Flames and had her relocated to the infirmary. She should wake up in a couple of hours.” Lussuria frowned, “ _You_ , on the other hand, are not doing fine at all. Come. Come on.” He took one of Bel’s arms and slung it over his shoulders, pulling him up to his feet, “You could benefit from some Harmony right now.”

With Mammon hovering close by, and with Lussuria half-carrying him, Bel soon found himself two floors above and being lowered into a sofa while his Sky’s Flames reached out and wrapped themselves around him.

_Mine_ , they seemed to say, _My Guardian. My bonded_. _Mine_.

Xanxus nudged him.

“Let go.” He ordered.

Bel didn’t _want_ to let go, he knew the moment he did, he would stop being in control. And he _hated_ that feeling. And yet, another part of him knew his Sky was _right,_ and that the ritual and the weeks preceding it, the bothersome worrying that had accompanied it all, Hel’s nightmares – it had been a lot. He couldn’t afford to break down in front of Hel because she needed him to be strong, but he _could_ trust Boss and the Varia to look after him for a little while.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Bel released the iron control he had over his Flames, allowing himself to be read more openly than he had in weeks. He took a deep breath, and then shuddered.

…

At the sound of someone rummaging around inside the kitchen, Cigno took off his glasses and looked up. He hadn’t heard this teammate come back from her little snooping mission, but that wasn’t all that uncommon – Medusa was a Mist, who were as a rule some of the Mafia’s biggest oddballs. That Medusa was somewhat blasé about using doors was in comparison a rather mild condition.

Sure enough, his mission partner joined him shortly, holding an ice cream in one hand and a roll of parchment in the other, which she gave to him before taking a seat at the table.

“Enjoy.” She said sardonically.

Unrolling the document revealed the school records of one Tom Marvolo Riddle, who had attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the 1940s. Which matched up nicely with when Merope Gaunt would have been pregnant. Tom Riddle, born on December 31st… place of residence… Wool’s Orphanage, London.

_Got you_.

Flipping all the way to the back of the phone book he’d been going through, Cigno’s eyes scanned the page, until – _yes, there it is_. He grabbed a pen and paper, and copied the phone number down.

“Good work, Medusa. I’ll call tomorrow morning.”

Pretending to be Tom Riddle’s grandson, of course, who had recently found out his late grandfather had grown up at their orphanage and would like to know more about him. In the meantime, Medusa could have a proper look around Little Hangleton, investigate the Gaunt and Riddle houses – and hopefully one of them would get lucky and find something this time.

Uncovering Lord Voldemort’s true identity was taking longer than they had anticipated. This was because next to nothing was officially known about the man, and though the Ministry’s records had been the first place they’d looked, the embarrassing incompetence showcased _there_ had made him want to set the whole place on fire, because the documents they’d found had been even _less_ than useless. They’d had to start from square one, which was _such_ a waste of time.

How could you know so little about the man you were waging a war against? How could you ever hope to win? As a member of the Varia’s Intelligence Team, this was a complete and utter affront to Cigno.

… But they _were_ at least making some progress.

Starting with the relatively well-established rumour that Voldemort could talk to snakes, they’d gone to work trying to figure out who his ancestors might have been, and who _their_ descendants had been, and if one of them might have been related to Voldemort. Parseltongue was a hereditary gift, after all. Luckily, pureblood magical society was kind of obsessed with its bloodlines, so getting their hands on a couple of detailed family trees hadn’t been so difficult.

Figuring out which offshoot of which branch was the one they were _looking_ for, though… it was an absolute _nightmare_. It didn’t help that most people stopped recording the lines of their squib children after a certain point – if, indeed, they recorded them _at all_ – despite the fact that magic might resurface again in somebody, even centuries later.

It was a mess and a half, but Riddle was looking to be a promising candidate: his mother had been a witch named Merope Gaunt – descended from Salazar Slytherin through his eldest daughter. She had been pregnant with a local muggle’s child when she disappeared, and presumably died, in 1926.

If Tom Riddle Jr. turned out to be another dead end though, they could move on to Charlotte Broadmoor by August… then again, considering _she_ had married a muggle in the 1840s and her only child had been a squib… tracking _her_ descendants down might be even trickier.

Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

Rolling up the document Medusa had found, Cigno asked her:

“Will they miss this?”

Medusa gave him a look which plainly said: _who do you think I am?_ , so Cigno nodded.

“Good. In that case, let’s put it with the others.”

…

When Hel opened her eyes inside the Varia’s infirmary, it was like waking up after a long nap. She felt sluggish, tired, and slow – and although she didn’t know how long she’d been asleep for, Hel could tell that the sun wasn’t falling right. Was it afternoon…?

And what about the ritual? Had it succeeded? _Was the not-horcrux gone?_

Turning her head slightly, she found Lussuria sitting at her bedside. He was reading a magazine about what looked like this year’s Milan summer fashion and looked up at the sound of rustling sheets when Hel sat up.

“Well look who’s finally awake,” He said warmly, petting her hair once and placing a kiss on her forehead, “Hello, dear. How are you feeling?”

“Alright… I think?” Aside from the lingering fatigue, at least, Hel didn’t feel any different. Was a that a good sign? Or a bad one? And what about the horcrux?

“Taken care of.” Lussuria assured her quickly, “Your daddy disintegrated that thing within seconds – it didn’t even stand a chance.” Pausing for a moment, Lussuria adjusted Hel’s pillows, so that she was sitting more comfortably, “What else should you know…? Oh, of course: Eir will be checking up on you for a little while longer – she burned away most traces of Rain inside you, and everything seems to be as it should be – but we still want to keep an eye on you tonight, so you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to go back to your own room. Don’t hesitate to let someone know if you want something brought down, though – as long as you stay in bed you’re pretty much free to do whatever you like, okay?”

Hel wasn’t happy about the bedrest – bedrest was _boring_ – but nodded along anyway. She was a little wary of Eir, and didn’t think she’d be up for doing much today anyway. Despite having slept nearly half the day away, she was probably still going to end up going to sleep early tonight.

Hopefully by tomorrow, her eyelids wouldn’t feel so heavy.

“Will you bring me some colouring books, and pencils? And my deck of self-shuffling cards… and Baroness Bear?”

She didn’t bother asking for her knife, as weapons weren’t allowed inside the Varia’s infirmary – it was one of the few rules everybody knew about and followed, so there was no point in asking. Not that Varia assassins needed weapons to be lethal, anyway: sharp pointy things just gave them an extra edge.

“Colouring book and pencils, card games, and your bear.” Lussuria rattled off, counting them on his fingers, “Consider it done, darling. I’ll go tell Eir you’re awake,” He added, getting up, “Is there anything else you need?”

Hel shook her head, but then suddenly wondered, “Lussuria, where’s Papa?”

“He was very tired, so your godfather made him take a nap,” Lussuria’s tone of voice suggested that he approved, “I’m sure he’ll come see you as soon as he wakes up. But will you do me a favour and tell him to take better care of himself in the future? And not to be such a reckless little _shit_? You’re allowed to use that exact wording, by the way.”

Hel giggled. Growing up at the Varia meant that she had of course heard much, _much_ worse than that, but she’d always thought Lussuria’s approach to cussing was funny and extremely effective. Because he almost never spoke that way, Lussuria using crass language _always_ turned heads.

You knew Lussuria was _serious_ when he dropped the f-bomb.

“Alright.” Hel promised, “I’ll be sure to let him know.”

“Excellent. Now you wait right here, dear – I’ll get Eir.”

…

Bel woke up from a dreamless sleep, lying down on the sofa… an annoying stiffness in his neck, but feeling much lighter than before.

Even without opening his eyes, he already knew a few things. Such as the fact that his Sky was still in the room with him, along with several of Bel’s fellow Guardians. All of them, in fact, except for Squalo. Their Flames spread out across the room unrestrained, promising _safety-home-belonging_ in a language that required no words.

A language that was _theirs_.

Bel stayed lying down with his eyes closed for a few moments longer, despite the fact that it probably fooled no one: there would have been a subtle change in his Flames when he woke up, and although _usually_ , one would have had to be paying close attention to actually notice this change, his Flames weren’t exactly being subtle right now.

Sure enough, no one reacted when he opened his eyes and sat up, running his hand through his hair only to realise that his crown was missing. Oh, on the floor. Must have fallen...

Putting his crown back on, Bel took a look around the room. Boss was doing paperwork and giving off a focused and faintly amused vibe (whose mission report was _that_ , and could he sneak a look?), while Levi was sitting by the unlit fireplace and reading, with Lussuria and Mammon closer to Bel, talking about photographs and their prices.

Was Lussuria putting together another photo album, or something? Well, whatever.

“What time is it?” He asked the room instead, knowing that someone would answer.

“Seventeen minutes past four.” Levi reported promptly, glancing at his wristwatch – precise to the minute, as always. Bel rolled his eyes, but didn’t comment.

So he’d slept for, what… almost four hours? Longer than expected.

“Hel woke up about an hour ago.” Lussuria informed him, “She’s in perfect health, and in good spirits. Also, Squalo is with her right now, so you don’t need to go down immediately.”

Alright, he’d _definitely_ take advantage of that. Frankly, the Prince could use a shower, and a snack to tide him over until dinnertime. He’d missed lunch, after all.

…

Squalo was still with Hel when the Prince walked into the infirmary that evening. What he saw there made a huge grin tug at his lips, and he backtracked a little so that he could half-hide behind the wall without being noticed. Squalo was sitting with his back turned to Hel, acting all disgruntled but doing nothing to stop his little princess, who was halfway through braiding his hair.

Lussuria would pay good money for a picture of this – but of course, so would Bel. He might just bribe Mammon to capture this moment for him, because not only was it _adorable_ … but it would also give him something to hold over the Shark’s head for the rest of their lives.

Squalo _never_ let anyone touch his hair.

The first one to notice him lurking was Squalo, who instantly shot him a deeply suspicious look. Bel’s grin only widened. There was no point in hiding anymore since he had already been spotted, so Bel walked into the room.

Hel noticed him approaching and looked up.

“Hi, Papa. Did you sleep well?”

“I did, Princess.” Bel agreed pleasantly, “What are you doing?”

“Making Squalo’s hair pretty.” His daughter said, then paused, and reconsidered her words, “Well, pretti _er_. Squalo’s hair is already pretty.”

“Shishishi~ yes – very.”

Squalo, glaring daggers at him, told the Prince to fuck off.

“Voi, why don’t you give your asshole of a father a makeover after you’re done with me, Hel? Like you used to when you were little?”

Makeover – Bel felt – was _hardly_ the word for it. As a two-year-old, Hel’s favourite pastime had been to climb on his chest while he slept, and draw all over his face with lipstick. Hel seemed to remember it too – or remember being told stories about it, more likely – because she went a little red.

“I was only a _baby_ then!” She protested, tugging angrily at Squalo’s hair, “Stop bringing it up!”

Bel frowned, “No hair-pulling.” He scolded, which Hel replied to with a pout, but Bel didn’t relent.

Teasing was all good and well, but pulling at people’s hair because she was upset with them wasn’t something Bel wanted Hel making a habit out of. Besides, Squalo was her father’s colleague and fellow Bonded. Boundaries were _important_ , so this wasn’t something Bel could just turn a blind eye to.

That was how cases like his and Rasiel’s happened.

“How would _you_ like it if Squalo pulled your hair because you said something he didn’t like?”

“I wouldn’t like it…” Hel said finally, a little sulkily, “I’m sorry for pulling your hair, Squalo.”

“Don’t do it again, voi.”

Hel continued with her work in silence after that, and a few minutes later she was done. After Squalo left – deciding to give them some time alone – Bel asked Hel how she was feeling, and what she had done today.

Turned out she had drawn a lot and played a few memory games with her self-shuffling deck of cards in between visitors. There had been visitors, and quite a few of them, by the sound of it. Lady had swung by to check up on Hel, and as had Fran. A number of other assassins had visited, too – mostly people who had babysat her on various occasions.

All in all, it had been a pleasant few hours, which was good to hear.

Hel had just finished showing him all of her drawings (amusingly bloody illustrations of some of the tall tales Fran and the others had been telling her), when she remembered something else:

“Oh, I almost forgot… Lussuria said to take better care of yourself, Papa, and he also said – and this is a quote, just so you know – to not be such a reckless little _shit_ in the future. What prompted that?”

Right, he did still need to tell Hel about all that, didn’t he?

Hel listened carefully as Bel explained what had happened during and after the ritual – about Lily Potter’s final, desperate, attempt to save her life, and how her ward had apparently been keeping her safe all this time.

Now that he knew what he was looking for, the barest Sunny hints actually _were_ there – but it was also subtle enough that focusing on it for too long made him want to start second-guessing himself, wondering if he was really just imagining it.

Considering that his Flame senses were some of the most precise in the Varia…

Sneaky bit of magic.

Come to think of it, _this_ was probably what Albus Dumbledore had been referring to in his letter, and why he had wanted Hel’s aunt and uncle to take her in in the first place… something about ancient magic and blood, and Hel being safe so along as she could call Petunia Dursley’s house ‘home’. Well, at least _that_ theory had been disproved today, since whatever Lily Potter had created was clearly still around and kicking despite Hel never having set foot inside her aunt and uncle’s house.

Then again, even if that theory _had_ panned out… the Prince still had his doubts about whether or not leaving Hel with her relatives would have had the effect Dumbledore desired. This was because he had _met_ Hel’s peasant relatives – they _hated_ magic and anything to do with it. They also didn’t give a shit about Hel. And yet Dumbledore’s whole theory _relied_ on the assumption that Hel would come to think of her aunt and uncle’s house as her home… but you could still live somewhere and _never_ call it home.

It was a good thing Hel was growing up far away from all that, in any case.

…

Cigno was not a happy assassin.

There were several reasons for this, but the greatest one by far was the undead in the lake. The waters were dark, deep, and silent – but Cigno’s Flames could sense their presence metres below the surface. Tens of them, then hundreds of them, a legion of corpses just waiting for the cue.

He did not _know_ what the cue was, and that did not make for a relaxing boat ride.

Turned out that Cigno hadn’t even _needed_ to phone the orphanage. The answer was right there. _Right_ – in – his – stupid – _name_ :

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

I am Lord Voldemort.

Well ha _fucking_ ha. He’d figured _that_ one out while taking a break and suddenly thinking… hey, wait a moment. Surely, it couldn’t be _that_ easy, right? It was so _obvious_ Cigno had almost been convinced it had to be a red herring.

Only, no, it _wasn’t_.

Further investigation and a visit to Wool’s Orphanage had revealed some very _interesting_ information about the sort of things young Tom Riddle had gotten up to… the story about driving two children insane while on a field trip had stood out in particular, which was how he’d found the cave.

Which brought him back to the matter at hand. The cave. The one with the lake, and the island. And the _undead_.

Swinging his wand upwards, an orb of light rose into the darkness, illuminating the island just enough so that Cigno could make out a sort of pedestal in the middle.

He didn’t need Hyper Intuition to _know_ that this place was bad news, and decided then and there that he would be demanding a bonus for this service. Gathering intelligence was all well and dandy, but when said search lead to a damp cave filled with _Inferi_ it was an entirely different beast altogether.

The boat docked, and Cigno got out.

He had reached the middle now, and was standing in front of a basin filled with an ominous-looking potion.

… _Definitely_ demanding that bonus. And a raise, as well.

…

Hel left the infirmary – with Eir’s permission – on Saturday morning, after breakfast.

When the Prince arrived to pick Hel up, Eir pulled him aside for a quick word in her office. She went over the test results, gave him some advice, and finished this all off with a handful of stern orders which had better be followed… _or else_. In other words: no training for at least a week, and it would be best if Hel didn’t tire herself out too much if she could help it.

“Let her ease back into her usual routine,” Eir told him, “And do visit Chiron. She might need glasses.”

As Hel was due for her yearly check-up anyway, Bel agreed to take her promptly. Turned out she _did_ need glasses, but luckily that was an easy enough fix. A visit to a healer ensured the issue was quickly set straight, so that was one more problem swiftly dealt with…

The weekend was over in what seemed like no time, and finally Hel’s birthday was right around the corner… for Bel, it started with an owl landing on his windowsill at the ungodly hour of eight-fifteen in the morning. It was carrying a letter and a package, and the package was so heavy it briefly made him wonder how the owl had even managed to stay airborne with a weight like _that_ pulling it down. But the package wasn’t addressed to him, so didn’t open it, and took a look at the letter instead.

_Ah_.

It was from his great-aunt: she had arrived last night and was eager to meet Hel. Deciding to just get the introductions out of the way, Bel sent his reply to her by owl, then contacted Hel’s remaining tutors, and let them know when and where the meeting would be taking place.

Since eleven was still a good few hours away, Bel took a shower and changed into his uniform. He grabbed Hel’s presents and set out to find her.

Once he’d set Mink on the trail, she wasn’t hard to find: all he had to do was follow his box animal as it scurried along, up the stairs, into the library, and out through an open window, until they finally found his daughter sitting on the edge of the roof and drinking some orange juice, legs dangling cheerfully over the edge. Mink ran over to her and climbed up her arm, wrapping himself around Hel’s shoulders like a particularly furry scarf. He gave her a nudge with his head – demanding scritches.

“What are you doing up here?” Bel wondered, settling down next to her.

“Watching him.”

Bel raised an eyebrow, and scanned the area below. For a moment, he couldn’t make out what it was, but then noticed a figure lurking in the distance. There, right by the treeline.

Someone was sneaking around the grounds, and Hel had noticed…? Not bad.

She wasn’t the only one, either. It looked like some of the assassins had already spotted the intruder as well. Dolce was down there, and as were Úlfur, Vor … and… was that Fran?

Oh, this _would_ be a show.

Bel grinned widely in anticipation, “Happy birthday, Princess.” He added, dropping three colourful parcels into Hel’s lap.

“ _Oooh_ , presents!”

“These are mine, but there’s a bunch more in the Prince’s office waiting for you.” Presents from each of the Officers plus Fran, as well as a couple from individual assassins who knew Hel.

Oh, and the one from Jophiel. Aunt Cassiel’s present hadn’t arrived yet… but Nante might be bringing that along. Bel told Hel as much.

“Great-Grandaunt Jophiel?” Hel made a face, “Is she the one who’s coming to teach me manners and etiquette and all that stuff?”

Bel hummed along in agreement.

“But I _know_ manners, don’t it?”

“There’s more to it than _just_ manners, Princess.” Bel said dryly, “And while we’re on the subject of manners, _try_ not to use that tone in front of Princess Jophiel. We’ll never hear the end of it.”

Hel sighed dramatically, but dropped the subject in favour of unwrapping her presents.

“It’s a tiara!” She gasped a moment later, “It’s so pretty, Papa! Thank you!”

Bel helped her put it on, and then watched in amusement while Hel preened, looking every inch the little princess that she was. Another moment passed before he noticed something and nudged her lightly, directing her attention downwards.

Things wee _finally_ starting to get violent!

…

If Great-Grandaunt Jophiel’s present was any indication of what kind of a woman she was going to be, then Hel felt she’d rather not meet her at all.

Wrapped up in several layers of light brown wrapping paper, had been _The Noble Lady's Handbook: Manners and Etiquette at Court_ , which sounded _boring_ and _dreadful_. Quickly flipping through the pages to get a better look at the book’s contents didn’t help; the whole thing was filled with pronouncements such as:

_Do not slouch. It is very ill-bred_ , and _Never cut bread; always break it._

Hel frowned. She’d rather read a _dictionary_ from start to finish!

But at least the rest of her presents were nice… Xanxus had come through with two amusement park tickets – to be used in September, when the Varia wouldn’t be so busy – and Hel’s other gifts had included puzzles, a jewelry-making kit and nail polish in a variety of different colours, a couple of fun hair pieces, and books on a variety of subjects, including but not limited to _101 Magical Prank Ideas_ , _Dragon Species Native To Europe_ \- which had _pictures_ in it, and a generously illustrated choose your own adventure type of book which was written in Greek. Hel did _not_ know Greek – modern or otherwise – but she knew for a fact that Levi did, so she'd have to convince him to translate.

Something to think about, later. There were still a few presents left, smaller things like bath bombs, a set of small animal figurines carved out of what might or might not have been human bones, and colour-changing markers, but Blaise’s present was by far her favourite: it was a golden bracelet shaped like a snake, with detailed scales adorning the entire piece, and shiny little gems for eyes – the end of the snake’s tail was turned backwards into a loop, through which the head had to be put to fasten it. It even fit with her crown!

Hel tried it on and promptly decided that she would _definitely_ be wearing it to tea at eleven!

…

At half past ten that morning Hel walked back into the Storm Office holding a couple of hair ties and some pins, and made a beeline for her father.

“Help me with my hair?” She asked, dropping the pins and hair ties on his desk and looking up expectantly. “I looked around for Lussuria, but he wasn’t in his office.”

Some asking around had revealed that Lussuria was apparently away to a mission in Peru, and wouldn’t be back until Wednesday…

Glancing at Hel, Papa shrugged as if to say: _well, I don’t have anything better to do anyway_.

“Grab a chair.” He told her, “What did you have in mind?”

When they left the office some twenty minutes later, Hel’s hair was half up in a bun with the rest of it left free to cascade down her shoulders. Her new crown sat atop her head, and she was of course wearing Blaise’s bracelet.

As they reached the end of the staircase, somebody who had apparently been scaling the outside wall let himself in through the window. Hel caught sight of a head of blond, longer and a little lighter than Papa’s had ever been and tied back into what looked like it might once upon a time have been a ponytail… but didn’t resemble it any longer.

The newcomer jumped down and started to dust himself off, before suddenly realising he was being watched. He turned around to face them and promptly went a little pink.

“Oh. Hello, Cousin.” He said, “Fancy seeing you here…”

Bel snickered.

Finally able to see the newcomer properly, Hel now saw he wouldn’t have looked out of place at Versailles: indeed, he was dressed in a knee-length, heavily embroidered coat of deep purple, thrown over a vest and a pair of breeches of the same colour. Then again, considering that he was also absolutely _coated_ in mud and scratches, maybe he wouldn’t have blended into Versailles _quite_ that seamlessly.

Wait, wasn’t this the person she had watched being chased around the grounds earlier? The one that had been sneaking around?

“Well, if it isn’t Nante.” Papa’s grin widened, all mean amusement. “Enjoy the welcome, _Cousin_?”

“Oh yes,” Nante responded, voice dripping with sarcasm, “ _Immensely_. Who _doesn’t_ love being ambushed by assassins first thing in the morning? Would it have _killed_ you to give us a warning, at least?”

“Maybe next time don’t get caught sneaking around like a thief, and you won’t need the warning.”

Nante huffed, but stayed standing still as Papa used a hint of Storm Flames to clean him up. This was an unusual sight, and one that made several assassins flinch, and stop to stare in a mix of fascination and outright horror. Although Hel found herself on the receiving end of this particular Flame technique fairly often, Papa had never used it on anyone else beside himself. Most people seemed to think he might decide to Disintegrate them along with the dirt he was getting rid of, so preferred it that way, anyway.

Nante didn’t seem afraid though, despite having gone very still and still watching Papa carefully. Smart, that. And brave. Hel decided that she liked him.

“I hope you won’t hold this against me, Princess?” He addressed Hel as soon as he was fairly certain Papa _wasn’t_ about to burn his face off, “I know it was a _terrible_ first impression.”

Hel giggled.

“Well, you’ve survived long enough to actually make it to tea, so I’d say that evens things out. You shouldn’t sneak around though.” She added severely, “Most people around here take that as an invitation to meddle, and not _all_ of them will be playful.”

Nante’s face went completely blank for a second.

“ _That_ – was playful?”

“You’d _know_ if they had seriously been trying to kill you. They may be peasants, but they’re still the best assassins around.”

“And you _live_ here…?” Nante shook his head, looking at Papa now, “Only you, Cousin. Only you.”

“Well – you at least look presentable now. Ready to face the dragon?” Then, turning towards Hel, her father said: “I think we should wait until everyone is gathered to get the introductions out of the way. What do you say?”

That sounded like a good idea, so Hel agreed.

By the time they made it to the Visitors’ Lounge (a room used sparingly, because most clients preferred not to set foot inside the castle at all if they could help it), it was actually a few minutes past eleven already.

Papa opened the door, and Hel went in first.

The first person Hel saw was Mammon, who was standing by the younger of their two guests, answering some question about the castle, while the old woman took a sip of her tea, and ignored the conversation going on completely.

She was thin and tall, and had a snobbish sort of look to her, wearing such large and heavy-looking jewellery Hel wondered how her neck hadn’t snapped under the pressure yet. She was also wearing a very old-fashioned and imposing dress: high collared, with long, ruffled sleeves, and skirts long enough to hide her feet. It was a very dark shade of green, and she wore a matching hat with it. There was a dead bird on the hat, Hel noticed.

This had to be Jophiel – the Great-Grandaunt that had sent Hel an etiquette book for her birthday.

The younger woman looked a lot more pleasant in comparison. Dressed a lot more plainly and in blue, she was probably in her late 20s or early 30s. She looked very neat and collected, and was perhaps an interesting conversationalist, if Mammon was showing some interest.

As they walked into the room, both women looked their way and got up quickly, dipping lightly into bows. As they raised their heads again, it was Great-Grandaunt Jophiel who spoke up first.

“I see you’ve brought your cousin along, Asriel.” She sniffed, “Good thing you caught him - I was starting to think he wouldn’t show up at all.”

“It is _such_ a pleasure to see you doing well, Princess Jophiel.” Nante’s tone of voice suggested otherwise, however, “You needn’t have worried - I was only exploring the grounds. It is a very interesting place.”

“Quite.”

Placing a hand on her shoulder, Papa lightly nudged her closer. Both Nante and Great-Grandaunt Jophiel fell silent at this, as three pairs of eyes now focused on her.

“If you’re both done…?” Papa asked the room sardonically, pausing for a moment before he continued, “I would like to introduce you to Princess Hel – my daughter, and second in line to inherit the throne. Hel, these are Princess Jophiel of the Red Kingdom, Prince Ferdinand of the Red Kingdom, and Lady Matilda Munter.”

Lady Matilda and Princess Jophiel both curtsied as they were introduced, and Prince Nante bowed as well. As his head came back up again, he grinned a smile that reminded Hel a little bit of her father.

“It’s a pleasure.” He assured her, and then turned his gaze towards her father. “If I may, Cousin? I have a present for the Princess, form Princess Cassiel.”

Papa nodded, and Nante pulled out a thin, long box from his pocket – the box was longer than his pockets were deep, so Hel guessed it had been spelled to fit more. Prince Nante gave the box to Papa – which was proper. It was considered rude to give gifts directly to a royal.

Not that Hel outranked Nante in title, but this particular tradition was also somewhat of a security measure, just in case the gift was cursed.

Hel thanked Prince Nante, and promised to send her Great-Aunt an owl, thanking her as well.

Papa didn’t seem to find anything wrong with the present, so passed it on to Hel, and suggested they make their way towards the sitting area. Hel noticed Mammon slipping out of the room at that point, silently closing the door behind them. The two women returned to the seats they had previously occupied, and Hel sat down on Papa’s left, which left Prince Nante to settle down between Princess Jophiel and Lady Matilda on the sofa facing theirs.

Hel looked at her father, a pointed question in her gaze.

“Go ahead.” He allowed, and Hel pulled on the ribbon and opened the box, curious to see what was inside.

It was – a _wand_.

“Silver lime, with a core of veela hair. Twenty-nine centimetres.” Prince Nante said proudly, as Hel carefully lifted the wand out of its case to get a better look at it. “Made by Gregorovitch himself, of course. It used to belong to your great-grandmother – the late Queen Adalicia. Since you can’t buy a wand until you actually turn eleven, we thought we might give you a little bit of a head start.”

A wand!

Princess Cassiel had given her a _wand_ to use as her very own! Hel could hardly keep herself from grinning.

To her right, Papa was wearing an amused expression, while Prince Nante was looking _very_ smug – but that wasn’t the case for everybody. Lady Matilda had the look of someone determined to mind her own business, and Princess Jophiel… she looked like she had just swallowed something nasty. It only lasted for a moment, but Hel still caught it.

Was there a story there…? If so, she should try and pry it out of them – although maybe not _in front_ of Great-Grandaunt Jophiel…

“Shishishi~ don’t get your hopes up yet, Princess. You won’t be using it quite yet – isn’t that right, Mila?”

“Oh, no. Of course not.” Lady Matilda said, shaking her head. She set her cup of tea down on the coffee table to speak freely, “Theory and proper grip _have_ to come first, but before that, His Majesty has instructed me to introduce Her Highness to some rudimentary runework. And of course nobody ought to be touching a wand before the basics of Magical Theory have been thoroughly hammered in – so I daresay it might be months before we get to that.” At this, she paused to smile at Hel, sympathetically “Sorry to be the bringer of bad news, Princess.”

“Oh,” Hel sighed. Well, that was a little disappointing.

Hel picked up her own cup of tea, and had a sip.

…

Huginn stood outside the Visitor’s Lounge, half leaning against the wall while he waited for somebody to come out.

Cigno and Medusa had returned from their mission to England last night, and their reports had been very _interesting_ , indeed. Huginn was what wizards called a muggle, but he knew about magic anyway because he was the Head of the Varia’s Intelligence Division - a division which was vital, but operated separately from the main squads and specialised mostly in espionage and the acquisition of information.

Before missions even reached the Officers, whose job it was to distribute each mission according to best fit and personal skillset, Intelligence did the screening. They gathered all information that went into the mission files and calculated the probability of success for each one, so Boss could then decide which missions to accept and which ones to turn down.

It was an important job, but that wasn’t all Huginn’s Division did. More recently, the Storm Officer had approached him with a request of his own, hiring some of his people to dig up what they could on ‘Lord Voldemort’ and his past, which would hopefully yield some hints about where his horcrux might be hidden…

Not that they had known for sure there _was_ a horcrux up until now, but Huginn felt it had been a safe bet to make regardless: reports written up by assassins who had examined actual, _real_ horcruxes to work on the ritual indicated that whatever had attached itself to Prince the Ripper’s daughter had _not_ turned her into a horcrux. Horcruxes were intentional, and all sings pointed towards that not having been the case with the girl.

A fluke, then.

Huginn was inclined to guess a fluke like that wouldn’t have been possible had Voldemort not been unstable to begin with, which was an interesting theory in and of itself, and up until this morning, his personal pet theory (and there were a lot of those floating around the Varia right now) had been that Voldemort might have created a horcrux shortly before attacking the Potters. Not yet completely recovered, then, he might have split his soul again on reflex upon being hit by that vicious ward that had killed Echo – not unlike someone reaching out to grab something in response to tripping.

He’d thought it a good theory, but recent discoveries had shot some holes through it…

Huginn finally heard the door open, and let this thought go. Mammon had walked out.

“Officer,” He addressed them immediately, “Could I have a word?”

Mammon turned to look at him and gave a light nod. Huginn fell into step beside them.

“Cigno and Medusa have returned from their mission, their reports are in my office. As is the updated information on Lord Voldemort.”

“That’s some good news," Mammon said, "I’ll let Bel know. Any rumours about a horcrux…?”

“As a matter of fact… we’ve got more than rumours. Medusa found a ring, and Cigno found a fuck-you note in a cave. The note in question refers to a second horcrux, but it was stolen by someone before we got there. Also, Cigno wants a raise and a bonus.”

Mammon twitched.

“That’s Bel’s problem – send Cigno his way. What about the horcrux, and that note? Do you have them?”

“Yes, Officer.”

“Alright, then.” Mammon decided, “Let’s go have a look.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Nearly 8000 words... I'm so proud of myself!
> 
> See you all next time!


	8. Tutors and Horcruxes

_To the Dark Lord,_

_I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you'll be mortal once more._

_R.A.B._

…

Long after they had returned to their office that day, Mammon still sat at their desk. They turned a gaudy golden locket over in their hands, and went over R.A.B.'s note inside their head…

They read it so many times already that they had the note memorised – but although there was _something_ about it, something that felt like it was _right on the tip of their tongue_ , no answers came to them that day…

Nor the next day.

Or the day after.

Cigno, who handed in his report on Wednesday morning, made sure to provide Mammon with his own assessments and thoughts on the note. He'd gone through the trouble of consulting Lady – who was apparently English herself – and they had both come to the same conclusion.

That R.A.B. had most likely been a follower of Voldemort's.

The note had been addressed to _the Dark Lord,_ rather than to Voldemort, and continued on with _I want you to know that it was_ I _who discovered your secret_ , before ending with _R.A.B_.

Implying acquaintance if not familiarity.

Like those words would _mean_ something to Voldemort, and he would know _exactly_ who R.A.B. was because of them. It did make sense, Mammon thought – a follower who went astray and betrayed their master fit the bill precisely, and a Death Eater definitely _would_ have had more opportunities than most to discover Voldemort's secrets…

The big question, of course, remained _who_ –

Who had stolen the horcrux?

Who was R.A.B.?

Bel – for one – was convinced of the stranger's noble upbringing. It was all in his style and penmanship, he insisted: as neat and as impeccable as his own could be… when he wasn't going out of his way to inconvenience everyone at the Varia by making it entirely illegible.

So they were looking for a witch or wizard from an old magical family, who had also been a Death Eater – or had at the very least been sympathetic to Voldemort's cause. Possibly middle-aged or older because horcruxes were a very rare piece of magic, and not something you might come across by accident in your local library. Cigno had therefore suggested looking for somebody who knew a lot about the Dark Arts. A curse breaker, or scholar, for example…

And it was then – at this suggestion – that something suddenly _clicked_. Mammon went completely still for a moment or two, before they threw the locket aside and left their office in a hurry.

They went straight to the Mist Suite. There, behind a door that only appeared for Mammon, a pocket of Mist Space lead into a hidden room. It functioned as storage for Mammon's correspondence and research, and consisted of many rows of bookshelves, each filled with dusty, old boxes, books, and parchments.

Of course – _of course_ , that was _it_.

 _That_ was why R.A.B.'s note had seemed to ring a bell.

Mammon had met the witch in question some twenty years ago – a curse breaker who had taken an interest in some of their research, back when Mammon was still obsessively looking for ways to break the Arcobaleno Curse. She had always signed off in a fashion very similar to R.A.B.'s…

Where was it… where was it – _aha_!

Pulling the box off the shelf, Mammon succeeded in submerging themselves in a cloud of dust – coughing, and with their eyes stinging painfully – they managed to get away and sit down at a table they had just conjured, opening the box to examine the contents.

Letters. About two dozen of them, all neatly sorted by date.

Mammon picked up the letter sitting on the top of the pile and unfolded it quickly, putting it down on the table. Next they took out the note, put it down next to the letter, and compared the two:

R.A.B.

Whose identity they didn't know.

And C.V.B.

… Cassiopeia Black. The renowned curse breaker.

 _Of course_ , Mammon breathed out, _how hadn't they thought of it sooner?_

Creating a pen and some paper out of Mist Flames, Mammon started writing a letter immediately.

…

Hel's new lessons started on Wednesday, at nine o'clock, in the library.

Nante walked into the room holding a large pile of papers, and put them down on the table with an audible _thunk_.

"Newspapers." He explained with a sort of half-smile, catching sight of Hel's expression, "You will be Queen one day, so you should make a habit out of being well-informed while you're still young – here, let's start with national news – I see Karkaroff's made the front page…"

Picking up the newspaper on top of the pile, Hel glanced at the headline:

 _DURMASTRANG INSTITUTE TO RECEIVE GENEROUS DONATION_ , it read.

Beneath these words was a large picture of two men shaking hands. The younger of the two was a man with dark, slicked back hair and a goatee, who looked very much like a suck-up in Hel's opinion. The other was slim and taller – impeccably proud and aristocratic – and much older than his companion.

Sharp-chinned, with relatively short white hair and a meticulously groomed beard and moustache that wouldn't have looked out of place in some old painting at an art gallery, he seemed to be reaching for a handkerchief the moment he was no longer holding Karkaroff's hand.

"This is Irgor Karkaroff," Nante informed her, tapping his finger lightly on the image to point out the younger of its subjects, "Headmaster of Durmstrang since last year, so it's likely you'll have to deal with him once you start school. He's got quite the reputation, but we'll get to that later – I trust you don't need _me_ to tell you who the man shaking his hand is?"

Hel had never seen him before, but something about the man definitely reminded her both of Princess Jophiel and of Papa. She couldn't explain exactly _what_ it was, but making a guess at his identity wasn't all that hard:

"It's the King…?"

"His Majesty, King Rasiel III, yes. Your great-grandfather." Nante took a seat on the table, made himself comfortable, and went on: "Now, some background information. Well, _first of all_ you should know that Durmstrang's history has long been entwined with the Red Kingdom's. It has enjoyed the Royal Family's patronage for _centuries_ , a fact that goes right back to its very founding. While Professor Nerida Vulchanova certainly _founded_ Durmstrang Institute and stands known as its first headmistress, she did not have the funds to actually build the fortress herself… well, Princess, that's where Konrad II comes in."

By the time Hel left the library, her head reeling with heaps of new information, it was lunchtime. She headed downstairs to grab something to eat, and then met Lady Matilda back at the library.

While Prince Nante's lesson had given Hel a lot to think about and remember, Lady Matilda's lesson was definitely the more challenging of the two. It required lots of note-taking and concentration, and focused heavily on what Matilda called the basics: what magic could and could not do, the different disciplines that existed, and what each one was and could be used for. Before the end of the lesson, a book had been pushed into her hands, and Hel's first assignment for her Magical Theory lessons was to read the first chapter by their next lesson and write up a summary.

The last of her new lessons didn't come until the end of the week, when on Friday morning, Princess Jophiel arrived at the castle to pick her up – ten whole minutes early, the _nerve_ of some people! – and looked down her nose at Hel's outfit like it had insulted her entire family…

That rather set the tone for the rest of their lessons.

…

"Princess Hel. What – on _Earth_ – are you wearing?"

The old woman standing in front of her – dressed in a conservative, high-collared, beige dress today, looked to be genuinely torn between bafflement and contempt as she took in the sight before her: Hel was wearing her shorts and a white T-shirt, with ankle socks and running shoes beneath them. Because it was going to be the hottest day of the entire _week._

"They're called shorts." Hel said airily, arms crossed and holding her head up high – _daring_ her great-grandaunt to challenge her, "And this here is a T-shirt."

"Well, I won't have you wearing these… _shorts_ in my house. Or that wretched _tea-shirt_. Go back and change into something more appropriate." She waved her hand in a dismissive motion, like the conversation was already over and done with.

"But it's going to be the hottest day of the entire _week_ today! Why isn't _this_ appropriate? I wore the same shorts yesterday and nobody had a problem with it."

Jophiel threw another dismayed look around, and her eyes lingered on a passing assassin – and his uniform.

"Yes, well. I _do_ have a problem with it, however. Now don't give me that look - you'll survive. I haven't keeled over and died from a heatstroke yet, have I?" _No_ , Hel thought privately, _and what a pity_ that _was,_ "So go change into something presentable, please – a dress. And see to it that the hem comes to no higher than your knees. I'm sure your esteemed father has bought you _something_ that matches that description?"

Hel could see that Princess Jophiel wasn't going to take no for an answer.

How _annoying_!

"I'm sure I can find _something_." Hel said stiffly, "I'll be right back."

And with that, she turned around and walked (stomped) back up the stairs, straight back to her room. She threw her wardrobe open and started to look through her dresses, intending to find the single most _garish_ , distinctly _muggle_ dress she could get her hands on, and force Jophiel to _look at it_ all day.

Maybe one of Lussuria's creations…? Those always looked modern. And very… designer, too.

Yes, Hel thought with a grin. That would be _just_ the thing.

…

Xanxus leaned against the wall and watched his goddaughter walk back down the stairs again a few minutes later, wearing a dress he was very sure he'd never seen her in before: an asymmetric, brightly-coloured monstrosity that had Lussuria written all over it.

It _did_ cover her knees though, the Varia Boss thought, not bothering to hide his smirk.

 _Cheeky_.

…

An owl had arrived on Thursday morning, clutching Cassiopeia's reply in its beak. It was an invitation:

 _Please meet me at Atlas House for tea tomorrow afternoon, at three o'clock_.

By five o'clock on Friday evening, Mammon had returned home – one more of Voldemort's horcruxes taken care of, and gone for good.

"I had been right to suspect a connection after all." They explained it all to Bel that night, "R.A.B. turned out to be Ms. Black's great-nephew, a boy named Regulus Black. We compared the note to a handful of his letters, and the handwriting matched. So did the signature, of course. It seems to have been something of a family tradition. Anyway… he apparently found out what Voldemort was doing, decided that him leaving his servant to die in that cave was the last straw, and went on a suicidal and distinctly Cloudy vendetta against him."

"Very Cloudy," Bel agreed mildly.

And _doubly_ so if Regulus Black had happened to be attached to that elf of his. Which it very much sounded like he had been. The boy had only been eighteen at the time of his death, but Clouds marked out their territories early in life – whether that be a location, like Decimo's Cloud Guardian, family or friends, or something else entirely, no Cloud would tolerate outsiders trampling on what was _theirs_.

Turned them vicious.

Hel was starting to show signs of this possessive streak, too… particularly where Blaise was concerned. And come to think of it, he should probably have a talk with her about it: make sure it didn't tip over into anything more sinister or problematic over time, because Aurelia was unlikely to appreciate _that_.

He'd much rather not make an enemy out of the Black Widow if he could help it. He enjoyed her company far too much.

Putting that thought aside, Bel returned his attention to the matter at hand. The second of Riddle's horcruxes.

"So it's gone?"

"Oh yes, Cassiopeia insisted on doing the honours herself."

"That's two down, then." Bel said, "And who knows how many more of them to go…"

He had personally overseen the ritual and destruction of the ring three nights ago, and now the locket was gone too… but although the creation of multiple horcruxes was entirely unheard of, it would be very lucky for them _indeed_ if Riddle had stopped at just those two…

It _was_ a lucky possibility, but the Varia didn't believe in luck – so look for more horcruxes they would.

Mammon hummed in agreement, "We should send someone to snoop around Hogwarts… Riddle spent most of his formative years there, and both the ring and the locket were found in places that were significant to him in some way… fits the pattern."

The illusionist continued muttering, something about search parties and expenses, and Bel decided to leave them to it. Glancing at the time, he got up. Hel would be getting ready for bed by now, so she'd better hurry up if he still wanted to say goodbye.

He was leaving for a relatively long mission tomorrow morning, so it would be their only chance.

…

Hel's first real day off came on a Saturday almost two weeks into August.

The weekend before it had been too hectic to be considered a proper day off: between Hel's new tutors still settling in and wanting to spend some time with her to get to know her better, and then Don Vongola's impromptu visit on Sunday, it hadn't been much fun. Nono's visit had left Hel's godfather in a bad mood, so the atmosphere around the castle had been heavy, and subdued.

But on Friday Papa had returned from Norway with presents, and took a day off to spend all of Saturday with her, so that was _much_ better. Hel was now reading through _Dragon Species Native to Europe_ in her free time, and so regaled her father with all of her new knowledge on the subject because dragons were _cool_ , and had he known that Swedish Short-Snouts could breathe _blue_ fire? How neat was _that_?

Very unfortunately, Papa did not agree to buy Hel a pet dragon, but did suggest having a look into the handful of dragon sanctuaries around Europe, and inquiring into whether or not they might be able to visit one of them. Satisfied with this concession, Hel agreed that it would be a great idea.

On Sunday morning, Hel visited Blaise.

"I want to show you something," He said as soon as she arrived, taking Hel by the hand and leading her to the back garden, "I was going to show you on my birthday, but you didn't stay for the sleepover, and I couldn't show you him with everyone else around."

'Him' turned out to refer to a snake – the same snake the two of them had snuck out of the Concert Hall where they first met each other and became friends. Jörmungandr still remembered her, and gave a lazy hiss of acknowledgement as he basked in the sun, wrapped around a tree branch.

"Mother thinks he's very handsome. And it's sort of an inside joke – 'cause my father was in Slytherin."

Hel switched to English, shooting Blaise a confused look, "What does that mean?"

"It's one of the Houses at Hogwarts. There's four of them: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin."

"Oh." Hel sat down, "Your dad went to Hogwarts? I thought he was Italian?"

"No," Blaise shook his head, "He was an English wizard. It's my mum who's Italian – she went to Beauxbatons. Because it's the closest one to here, you know."

Translation: the closest of the three big European schools. There were others, too, but those were smaller, more local, and less well-known. Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, and Hogwarts, on the other hand, were each old and prestigious.

Hel had never heard Blaise talking about his father before, so was curious.

"What was your dad like?"

Blaise shrugged, a little listlessly, "I never met him – he died before I was born. Mum says he was a hopeless romantic, and funny – and a brilliant duellist." Blaise picked up a stick off the ground and gave it a determined sort of wave, pretending to do magic, "What about your mother?"

Her mother?

It wasn't a question Hel had been expecting.

"I don't know," She admitted, "She died when I was really young. She was really pretty though, and I _think_ she must have been a really strong witch."

"Of course she was! _Your_ dad would never date a weakling!"

Hel made a vague sort of sound. Truth be told, Papa had never even met Lily Potter… but it wasn't like she could tell Blaise that. She had already told him too much as it was. To distract them from this subject, Hel looked around for another fallen twig to pick up.

"I have an idea, let's duel!"

…

Bel left the fireplace and stepped out into a wide entrance hall of red walls and heavy woodwork. A large, medieval tapestry was the first thing to meet his eyes… followed by a servant a little bit to the right, who had been waiting to bow and greet him.

"Princess Jophiel is in her drawing room, Your Highness." The servant said, straightening up again. "This way, please."

Bel followed him through the halls of Jophiel's Sicily home, taking in the surroundings without much interest. His great-aunt had this house built for herself after agreeing to tutor Hel. She had _told_ Bel this was because she wanted to have her own space, but the Prince suspected she just couldn't stand the thought of mingling with the Varia. This suited Bel perfectly, because it meant that the occasions on which he had to see and interact with Jophiel were few and far between – which was no great loss in his opinion.

This morning he had received an invitation to tea, however, because Jophiel wanted to talk about Hel. He'd already had his chats with Nante and Matilda, so he couldn't exactly weasel out of it this time.

When they finally reached Jophiel's drawing room, Bel found his great-aunt sitting at a round table, having her 11 o'clock cup of tea. She was wearing a pair of small, round glasses on her nose, and was holding a newspaper in front of her – reading.

The servant announced Bel's arrival and she looked up, folding the newspaper.

"Ah, Asriel. Thank you for coming – do sit down." She waved her wand, and the chair facing her moved back a little to allow him to sit down in it. "How was Norway? Here, have some tea – the Prime Minister of Bulgaria has just sent me a most _exquisite_ blend back from his recent trip to China."

"It was fine." Bel said shortly, taking a seat, "And you'll have to excuse my rudeness, _Great-Aunt_ , but if I'm going to have to sit through a conversation about everything that's wrong with my daughter, and how I'm not even raising her correctly, I think I'm going to need something a lot _stronger_ than tea."

Especially since his grandfather had made it perfectly clear that he was not allowed to kill his sister, nor maim her. Not unless she tried to attack him first, at least, and Bel recognised that she was vanishingly unlikely to do something _that_ stupid.

"Well. I can certainly see where that girl got her impertinence from." Jophiel sniffed, "Contrary to what you seem to think, I did not call you here to _insult_ you. I think your daughter is quite the entertaining pupil, actually. But tell you what, I have an unopened bottle of firewhiskey and I've been looking for an excuse to open it – I could do with a drop, as well." At this, she nodded at her servant, who bowed again and left the room.

"You think Hel is entertaining…?" Bel asked suspiciously.

"Oh yes. Quite the challenge. She's a very headstrong girl, and smart too. It makes for a troubling combination – your daughter hasn't stopped trying to make my life hard since she first set foot inside this house, you know."

Yes, Bel _had_ heard about that: Hel seemed to be trying to wage psychological warfare on Jophiel by following her rules to the letter, but intentionally misinterpreting them just a little bit to the left to be contrary. Bel had never seen his daughter wear so many of Lussuria's creations before, and rumour had it that she had already asked the Varia's Sun Officer to make her some more.

Lussuria had definitely been in an _excellent_ mood this morning, talking about fabrics, zippers, and faux-fur to anyone willing to listen.

"You _like_ the challenge." Bel realised.

Princess Jophiel took this cool accusation in stride, smile nowhere near friendly. Bel recognised the look – his great-aunt was having _fun_.

"What can I say, an old woman's life can get dreadfully boring at times. The occasional challenge can be very uplifting to the spirits."

Just then the servant returned with the pottle of firewhiskey, and it was only after Bel had a glass of it in front of him and Jophiel had added some to her tea, that Bel spoke up again.

"So how is she doing?"

"Her work is satisfactory." Jophiel announced, "She pays attention and does her work, and I've started her on hierarchy and proper forms of address. I'm having her keep a diary as well – to practice her penmanship. Aside from the attitude, I'd say she's doing quite well. See? No insulting your precious darling. Although – speaking of – don't you think she's a little _too_ attached to you?"

 _Ah_ – the tips of Bel's lips twisted upwards humourlessly, and he leaned back into his chair – _here it was_.

Jophiel frowned. "It's not a joke. You coddle her way too much – what are you, some common peasant?"

"I wasn't aware loving your children was a right only reserved for the peasantry."

"You know very well that's not what I meant. It's not about not loving them – it's that showing _too much_ affection makes them soft. We can't afford a soft _Crown Princess_ , Asriel, heaven knows you're smart enough to understand that. Do you _want_ your daughter to end up like Ferdinand? Or would you rather she end up like _your brother_ , instead?"

The words might as well have burned him – either way, they stung the same.

"If you think Rasiel was _soft_ , you're delusional."

"Of course he wasn't _soft_ , he just wasn't strong enough to make it. A lot of us weren't. Do you really want to risk that with your own daughter?"

Neither royal spoke. The silence was so thick and loaded that Bel felt he could have cut through it with a knife. The moment lasted long, a bit too long, but finally Bel spoke.

"Hel is well-protected." He said quietly, "And she's not soft – she's a _child_. Let her be one." Jophiel opened her mouth, but Bel was faster, "You have already shared your opinion on the matter, Princess Jophiel. _Thank you_."

That shut her up.

It was a clear dismissal, and Princess Jophiel clearly still remembered her place. As her Crown Prince, Bel outranked her – it was not her place to speak. The Prince enjoyed the silence, and the firewhiskey, for a blissful five more minutes before Jophiel spoke up again, changing the subject.

"I plan on introducing the Princess to a few children her age these coming weeks. Suitable companions for a young princess. A little girl needs friends." _Or connections to cultivate_ , Belphegor thought shrewdly, because there was always some ulterior motive to being introduced to someone in his family, "I trust you do not have any objections to this?"

Loath as he was to admit it, Jophiel _did_ have a point. Hel needed more friends her age… and Lussuria and Aurelia had both already suggested he try and find her some. The lack of age-mates had never bothered _Bel_ before, but the Prince could acknowledge that he hadn't really been a typical child.

"Who did you have in mind?" He wanted to know.

"Her distant cousins in Sicily and France, to begin with… but that might take a while to set up. In the meantime, I thought we could visit Lady Vichtenstein. She has two children her age. I'll be introducing your daughter to Ernst, of course – and we might as well visit your aunt's youngest and meet the baby. She has a son, too… but I think he might be a little too young to make friends with a six-year-old at this point."

Only family, in other words.

There was nothing actually wrong with Jophiel's suggestions, and Hel might actually enjoy it, so Belphegor didn't protest.

"I'd like to call over a tailor to take her measurements as well. She _needs_ some more appropriate clothes if she's going to be making a good first impression."

Another point he couldn't argue with, as Hel didn't really have any dresses his great-aunt would consider 'appropriate' for a royal visit – most of Hel's clothes were of the muggle variety: firmly rooted in the present, and not the 1800s.

"Owl me his rates and I'll send over the gold."

"I will." Princess Jophiel agreed, apparently satisfied that she didn't have to fight him on this point. She picked up her teacup and brought it to her lips, staying silent until the cup was on her saucer again, "By the way, Asriel, my brother urges me to ask you if a Princess Consort might be joining our family anytime soon. He is very glad to see His royal bloodline continued – and to have magic back in the ruling line at last – but He believes it would be prudent not to hinge all of your hopes and plans on this one child."

"He wants a spare…" Having once _been_ the spare, he was very familiar with what that life entailed. But he didn't need two children – right now, he had his hands full taking care of just the one. "You can tell His Majesty that the Prince has no plans to marry at present. Should he change his mind, however, He will be the first to know."

Jophiel glanced at him, "If you wish me to. But you _are_ aware he won't be pleased, right?"

"When have I _ever_ done anything to please him, Great-Aunt?"

"Yes, when indeed…? If we tallied it all up it would surely be a very short list. You are nothing like your father at all, in that regard." The subject of parents seemed to remind her of another, for she went on: "Whatever _did_ happen to Princess Hel's mother? I _know_ my brother knows, but he's been very tight-lipped concerning the matter."

She sounded as though this fact annoyed her, and Bel couldn't help but find it amusing. Of course, nobody but the King and the entire Varia knew that Hel was his by adoption. It wasn't like royals went around sharing their life details with their subjects, so people had been left to assume as they would.

"Passed." Bel said simply, "When Hel was a little over a year old."

"I see. My condolences."

Bel accepted them, as would be appropriate, and downed the last bit of firewhiskey in his glass. He set it down. Next to him, Jophiel seemed to be done with her tea, too.

Good – that meant that he could leave.

"Have you considered any matches for your daughter yet?"

Bel had been so sure Jophiel was finished talking, that the question actually surprised him.

"What?"

"Marriage." She clarified, "Have you given much thought to who you'd like your future son-in-law to be?"

"Considering I haven't even given much thought to who I'd like my _future Queen_ to be, no – not really." Bel said coolly, but it didn't dissuade the old vulture.

"Well, you should. It's never too early to start considering alliances, and your daughter is going to be a fine and strong witch one day. A worthy Queen, provided she gets the right guidance..." High praise coming from Jophiel, Bel thought dryly… but in that moment, Bel also realised something different. It was a suspicion so outlandish it sounded almost entirely impossible: that Jophiel didn't just find Hel amusing – but that she actually liked her. "If I may be so bold to make a suggestion, My Prince? I have a great-grandson the same age as Princess Hel. Ernst manifested magic last month, so they will be attending Durmstrang together in a few years' time. I believe he would be an asset to your daughter, and a fine Prince Consort."

Bel scoffed derisively, _an asset to his daughter_.

An asset to Jophiel, more likely!

"Princess Hel is not looking for a fiancé at the present moment, so I must turn down your _generous_ offer, however regretfully," He said cooly, following the formal script, which wouldn't allow Princess Jophiel to twist any of his words, "Her Highness will not be betrothed before she is seventeen, and is to have full control over the choice of whom to marry when that does happen. Now, if you'll excuse me – "

Bel turned on his heel and left the room, shrewdly making a mental note to make an adjustment to his will, so it included that last bit.

Better safe than sorry.

…

Over the next few months, Hel went on a lot of trips with Great-Grandaunt Jophiel and met a lot of people.

First among those people was a boy named Ernst, whom she met on a dark and rainy September day, as her great-grandaunt made them sit through and practice their etiquette during a twelve course meal.

Then there were other children as well: Eduard and baby Viktoria, and Felix, Amalthea, and Charlotte, and Prince Claudio and Princess Isabella of Sicily, who lived much closer to home.

European magical history, as Hel was finding out from Nante, was a really interesting subject. But although the two of them were frequently linked, the modern history of Magical Europe was very different from its muggle counterpart… this could largely be attributed to the instatement of the Stature of Secrecy, in 1692.

Italy was a convenient example of this, as the Unification of Italy had not yet taken place when the Secrecy Laws were passed. The result was that there was no such thing as a 'Magical Italy' on any magical map, and the territory was instead composed of a handful of Kingdoms, Republics and Duchies, all of which had different governments and leaders, and did not consider themselves to be a part of the same country.

So while Hel was at the Varia, she was in Muggle Italy – but she was also in the Kingdom of Magical Sicily, whose royal family was related to Hel's own through the daughter of a Kingdom Princess who had married one Cosimo of Sicily… although Hel couldn't remember which Cosimo that had been, exactly, at the moment.

Why _did_ Royals name their children after themselves? They should show some consideration towards future generations of princes and princesses, forced to remember the difference between more than a dozen of identically-named kings!

But the visit to Sicily turned out to be great fun at least… even despite the face that Princess Jophiel was with her. Isabella and Claudio were ten and seven years old respectively, and Isabella was the _coolest_ person Hel had _ever_ met! She had a _Kelpie_ , which she kept as a pet!

After a luncheon with the Crown Prince and his wife, Princess Jophiel insisted on a visit to the National Art Gallery, where they got a long-winded, guided tour by a wizard who had to be at least a hundred years old – but _after_ that, Princess Estelle was able to convince Great-Grandaunt Jophiel to join her inside for a cup of tea, and Hel, Claudio, and Isa got to play outside until sundown.

All in all, Hel enjoyed the visit, and returned to the Varia satisfied – happy to have two new friends to call her own.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a review and let me know your thoughts!


End file.
